Lost in bright city lights
by Ky03elk
Summary: With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.
1. Chapter 1

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**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter one – Opening of an antithetic kind

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With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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A.N.

This ficathon entry (50,000 words) is rated M for language, drug use, violence and the occasional sex scene. While I believe in happy endings, I also believe that for some you have to walk along a darker path to get there in the end.

This is based _loosely _on the prompt given to me by artsy861 who asked if I could write this, castleramblings . tumblr post / 74547754811 (remove the spaces). My apologies to her for taking the third and fourth pictures and then going completely left field.

Also Happy Birthday Marguerite for tomorrow :-)

* * *

Kate stands alone beside the large bay windows of the banquet hall, an isolated silhouette of white. The thin material of her dress drapes her slender frame, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs as she lists from foot to foot. If she felt pain, no doubt there would be lightning bolts of fire tearing through her flesh, but she stopped feeling the moment her heart stopped beating.

It's for the best. Or at least that's what she tells herself.

The flash of bright lights from outside draws Kate's attention away from the mass of people that are socializing before her. They drift in between the high tables, loud voices competing over the top of each other as their expensive clothes glitter proudly. She huffs quietly to herself; it's as if the label they wear measures their worth.

Idiots.

She stares, eyes transfixed on the paparazzi's cameras, the hundreds of blinding lights making the dark appear as if it is truly alight with millions of stars. But it's not. There's nothing but artificial light showering some wannabe with artificial love, and she turns away in disgust.

Her level of irritability is peaking, and if she is to keep up the façade, keep mingling amongst the crowd, then she is going to require a secluded corner, even if it really is too early in the night.

It's not like she can go back to her apartment; leaving isn't an actual option.

She's not here willingly.

Tonight, like every other high class, glamorous party that she shows up for, she's nothing more than a pretty face, a good body, and a pair of legs paid to make men forget their troubles for a little while. It's hardly the modeling jobs that she does during the day, but money is money, and the bills don't care where it comes from.

"Nice party." Twisting to face the voice that's beside her, Kate smiles, an actual genuine pull of her lips, and she looks down at the tiny girl at her elbow. Sammy barely looks old enough to be in school, let alone out of it, and that, of course, is the girl's allure. It's the hook that gets her certain jobs, and tonight, unfortunately, they're in the same predicament. Nothing more than a pretty face paid to smile nicely.

But looks can be deceiving. Sammy's doe eyes and pigtails are all for show; she'd turned twenty just weeks before Kate's own twentieth birthday in November and she blinks at that thought.

She's managed to lose two months of her life. What seemed like only yesterday isn't, and yet, considering what those two months held; an empty Christmas, the first anniversary since her mother bled out in an alley, the first anniversary since her father stumbled drunk in front of a cab, it's not the worst thing to have no memory of this period of time in her life.

If she's honest with herself, it's more than just the last two months; she has no memory of the last year.

"This party is just like the one last night. And the one before that." She snaps at Sammy, rusty barbed wire laced around each word, and for a fraction of a second, shame over her harsh words pushes to the surface, but it sinks back down, disappears just as quickly.

She used to care, used to feel. Then again, she used to have people who loved her and a life with potential. But with nothing and no one, what was a teenage wild child phase is beginning to look more and more like a life not worth the effort.

Then again, it's late, the day's been long and her last line of cocaine was hours ago. The more minutes that pass, the more easily little Katie Beckett resurfaces - the lost and orphaned nineteen year old who had stood before two gravestones and wished for a third.

A humorless chuckle cracks through her parted lips, and Sammy's eyebrows draw together before Kate waves a hand in dismissal.

Because the difference between that Katie and the one who stands here now, is twelve months and one hundred and eighty degrees.

She has really grown up, matured, found some solid ground in that time.

Yeah right.

* * *

A waiter approaches, extending the platter of champagne flutes, and reaching forward Sammy plucks one with her perfectly manicured fingers as Kate shakes her head in a silent no.

"Underage drinking is wrong, Kate. Good girl for resisting." The giggle that ends Sammy's praise portrays the absurdity of her sentence, indicates that this isn't her first glass either. Both girls are well aware of what goes on - the use and abuse - to get most models through the day, it's just that alcohol and Kate don't see eye to eye.

To lose her Mom to random gang violence was heart wrenching, to lose her father to a bottle of scotch was soul destroying.

Let it go, Kate. Let it go and move on.

"You look nice tonight, Sammy." It's true and it also changes the subject entirely. The baby doll dress that the other model wears leaves her standing out amid the guests, although it has more to do with Sammy's child like features than because it is still in fashion. The pale pink hints to what lies underneath the fabric and it is earning her more than a handful of lust filled glances.

"Well, considering whose party we're at, I have high hopes for tonight."

Glancing around, Kate truly looks for the first time since they were ushered through the side entrance and she attempts to work out exactly whom is on Sammy's radar. Or at least why they make this different from the other parties they've been paid to work. The crowd at tonight's book launch looks no different to the party goers of yesterday; the meaningless chatter and heated stares that are directed her way are all just a repeated process.

"I don't get the appeal of a sugar daddy, Sammy. The money would be nice, but damn they're a lot of hard work."

Older men come with baggage, baggage that has to be attended to and that is the last thing Kate could give a shit about.

She has enough trouble keeping the happy smile on her face for strangers, for the girls that she crosses paths with on a regular basis, job after job; she has no energy left to keep the mask in place for some grumpy old man that wants to stare at her naked body while he attempts to get it up.

"Oh, Kate. Not tonight. This isn't just _some _sugar daddy we're talking about. This is the white whale's party. The holy grail of the bachelor world, and if I can snag his attention…" Sammy scans the crowd and Kate rolls her eyes. This is a party, and whomever they are celebrating tonight is going to be no different to all the other men.

She stumbled onto this life in the beginning, had gladly grabbed the opportunity to fade into oblivion, to just be another face in the crowd, and now, she can't see the attraction in putting herself out there, being arm candy on some wrinkled skin. She's on display enough.

A gust of cold air blows through the doors as they open, allowing more people in, and as the chill slides across her back, along the exposed skin on her arms, Kate turns into the sensation. It's only for a moment and the cool breeze is soothing on her overheated skin, but it goes before she has a chance to grab ahold of it.

Shifting sideways, she tries to chase the feeling, to keep it lasting just a little bit longer, but the doors are already closing and her movement pulls the tape that is holding the plastic on to her stomach. She'd secured the bag in a rush as she'd dashed between her last modeling appointment and tonight, and while taping it on conceals the product, it's irritating her skin.

The half gram of cocaine really has to be for later though, when the hunger from skipping everything but coffee crawls out of her belly and into her throat, for when the shake in her fingers becomes noticeable to others, for when the memories of her past begin to pull her down into depression.

It's not for now.

* * *

The dribble that spills from the man in front of her, the narcissistic noise about how amazing he is, how successful and wonderful life with him would be, grates against Kate's nerves. The shrill tone of the little man - his eyes perfectly placed at her chest as he stares into the valley of her breasts - runs up and down her spine taking shavings from her skin. The open and exposed rawness that encompasses her body, heart, and soul, is weeping - why is her usual compartmentalization cracking tonight? - and with her cheeks frozen high, she smiles down at him.

Ignore. Stand tall.

He reaches forward, trails a finger along the edge of the white strap that clings to her shoulder, dipping down until it joins with the other side between her breasts; the silver pieces on her dress catch the light and create flickers of rainbows on his skin. She swallows the bile that rises.

Breathing - slowly in and out from her mouth, god forbid the reek of bad cologne enter her body - Kate stays still. This is her normal, the new normal of her life; her body is no longer hers, it's just a tool.

Her seventeen-year-old self had no idea. Her rose-colored glasses had prevented her from seeing anything but the bitching and backstabbing of the modeling world. She sees it now, has experienced it all. The pressure to stay thin, the abuse to her body, the demands of shows, the loss of modesty, the blackmail from those in a position of power.

Once upon a time, she had dreams, goals, and a future. Now…

Kate's heart may be broken, the little pieces of shrivelled, blackened flesh thrown into the grave as her father was lowered into the ground, but at least there is rarely anything left inside her that feels.

His finger slips under the material, a nail scraping the circular edge of her areola, before he withdraws slowly. The curl of his lips, the lust in his eyes, slides across her skin and the urge to trap his finger between her own, to pull back until the snap of bone brings a completely new look to his face, unleashes itself. Not that she does.

Grin and bear it.

She's already dead… but her reflection flashes in his glasses and the eyes staring back are her mother's not hers, and the withered muscle in her chest thrashes. It stops before it really starts, but it's enough of a reminder.

"Excuse me for a moment. I seemed to have misplaced my purse."

Walking away - she's paid to smile nicely, she owes this party nothing more than that - Kate weaves in between the other guests, her gaze landing on Sammy. The other model's face beams as she arches her neck to look at the tall man she's flirting with. The tailored cut of the expensive, black jacket emphasizes the broad shoulders within, the strands of hair, styled in short, soft waves, pick up the light overhead and the brown comes alive, gold lines appearing like hidden rows of gems, and Kate comes to a halt.

If his face is as striking as the rest of him, than Sammy may just be the luckiest girl in the room, and her lips curl up before she turns away, her eyes searching for an exit.

While Kate doesn't need it in her own life, in the early hours of the morning, when the bed is too big, the apartment too quiet, and the cocaine in her system non-existent, she closes her eyes and pretends that she's loved. That she could feel love for someone else.

She can't. She had sworn to herself as she packed her parents belongings into boxes, that love is a useless emotion. Nothing can come from loving another person, nothing but heartache and loss, death and destruction.

Her elbow collides with the pile of books on the table beside her, six of the hardbacks falling onto the soft carpet underfoot, and bending at the knees, Kate uses both hands to gather them up.

"Are you a fan?"

Straightening, Kate turns toward the voice, the weight of the six novels has her resting them against her abdomen, her fingers attempting to find purchase. But all of her movements have pulled the tape away from her skin, the small plastic bag left dangling with only one sticky piece stopping it from slipping out of her dress and dropping to the ground.

Shit.

The man reaches for the books, his black jacket opening to reveal a crisp white button up, his face strong and defined with a teasing smile that dances on his lips, blue eyes as clear as the oceans, and Kate's breath leaves in a gasp as he takes them from her hands two at a time.

"Uh. No. I don't have much time to read." She used to. She loved curling on the window seat at home, the smell of her mom making brunch on a Sunday morning would drift through each room until she'd be forced to put the novel down, find the delicious buffet that had been prepared.

Closing her eyes on the sharp slash that travels through her at the memory, she shakes her head while pulling her bottom lip between the hard edges of her teeth.

Control. Breathe. Let it go.

"Well. If you find time, I hear it's a good book, by a _great _author." There's humor in his words but it's a mystery to her, one she doesn't have time to work out - her arms fold, holding the falling bag in place - and peeking through her lashes, she glances quickly at the table to read the title except the breach of her past is bringing unwanted tears to her eyes.

Fuck, she has to get out of here.

"Sure. Maybe."

She turns away from him, heads toward the corridor she'd spotted as the books fell from the table; heads toward solace, and the waiting euphoria that will flood her system once she bends over the line of white powder. Inhaling the substance at least allows her to feel something other than the black of the rabbit hole she has fallen into, even if it's only for a little while.

One day, maybe, she'll get to curl up again, her body relaxed, her mind happy, free of the past that haunts her, and she'll sit and read the book the stranger had recommended.

_Storm Season_ sounds just like her life.

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for all their hard work behind the scenes xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	2. An illicit meeting

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**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Two – An illicit meeting

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Kate steps up to the red rope that is draped between the two steel poles, the warning unstated but clear - no entry - and while usually she would head for the bathrooms - not tonight. There has to be some place for her to sit as she slips out of her skin, someplace out of the way for her to be alone, because tonight life is hitting her abnormally hard.

Well, that's not new, the pain of her past is a shadow that clings to her heels, it's just at the moment it's clawing up her calves, slicing bloody lines onto her skin as the cracks inside begin to show.

She can fix it, although there are different lines for that.

Placing her hand on top of the waist high pole, Kate angles it sideways, her head twisting to scan behind. She'd walked away from the party, away from the stranger with the soulful eyes she could easily drown herself in, and disappearing down the corridor, she was home free.

Until this.

A sigh escapes as she slides her body through the gap she's created, and with another glance to ensure that she is by herself, she creeps along as a shiver breaks out in anticipation.

Her blood is singing, her body aware of what is about to happen, and it swirls and dances inside her. Every inch closer to seclusion increases the tempo until she's almost running, her hands shaking.

They say the brain is altered with cocaine use, it associates certain situations with the next high, and she would never have believed the tales. Until now…

The second she's alone the whisper for the next hit morphs into a roar and the noise drowns out the whimper of her past self, the one that remembers what life was like before everything fell apart and she lost her ability to care. Before she lost her parents.

Trembling fingers slide over her scalp, over her hair which she'd left in the upswept style from her previous job this afternoon, as the word _lost _catches and like a record skipping on a turn table, it stutters on repeat.

_Lost_.

She didn't _lose_ her mother down an alleyway; she was murdered by random gang violence. She didn't _lose_ her father during a night out; he'd stepped in front of a car while drunk.

They're dead. Not lost.

The darken corridor transforms into a semi-lit open area, the room no bigger than her shit hole of an apartment, but she could cheer at the sight. Plush seats line all three walls and they face a large, low marble table that sits in the middle of the space.

This will do perfectly.

Kneeling before the flat surface, she hikes the front of her dress up, her white thong flashing the empty room, and her fingers tear the last strip of tape from where it hangs precariously off her abdomen.

She really has to be more careful, take more precautions when it comes to concealing the bag of cocaine that is mandatory for anything longer than a half a day stay away from her apartment.

It's fine when she's at her modeling jobs; it took less than four months for her to stumble upon the back rooms, the curtained off areas, and the discreet cluster of girls all turned inward as they share what is readily provided for them. But parties are a different thing entirely. A level of discretion is a must, god forbid the wrong person - or worse, the wrong camera - sees something.

Her fingers tug on each side of the bag, slipping on the smooth plastic, her skin clammy and numb, and it isn't until her third attempt - a "for fuck's sake," shattering the silence - that she breaks open the seal.

Reaching into the transparent bag, she withdraws her credit card and the piece of straw no longer then her thumb, and she places them onto the table. Her eyes close as she attempts to slow the moment down, make it last, because it will all be over too soon.

The euphoria that had flooded her system with her first exposure has never been reached since; the burst of bright lights, the happiness that had her heart beating again, her skin tingling as it came alive, is always just out of reach. The feeling was fake after all, a trick the drug played on her, and the crash that had followed was devastating.

If cocaine has her reaching the top of the mountain, has the wind rushing through her hair as the possibilities of _everything _lay there ready for the taking, then the aftermath is the bottom of the deepest valley, her broken and battered body hitting the ground, destroyed, the depression swallowing her whole.

Not that this stops her. She taps out two lines of powder, brings the straw to her nostril, her finger blocking the other side, and with a steady inhalation, she loses another part of herself.

She'd weep for the situation, for the mess that her life is. But give it ten minutes and everything will be as wondrous as the tiny bud in spring, opening under the sun to reveal the beautiful flower within, and she leans over again, switching sides to remove the second line from the table's surface.

What was just 'a one time thing' with a group of models as they'd attempted to starve off the humiliation of the job, of the hunger pains, of the grim stories that they all carry but never speak of, soon became an alternative to hitting the bottle the way her father did. Became her escape.

But his rapid spiral downhill should have been a warning that once she got something in her system, a taste of oblivion, that she'd be forever chasing that sensation again.

She hasn't stopped chasing since.

She can't see how she ever could.

* * *

Lying along the cushions, her body stretched flat, every nerve ending alive, the blood cells within her veins and arteries bouncing up and down, Kate releases a silent giggle, a huff of air, as a shake of her shoulders portrays her delight. She's high in the sky surrounded by white, puffy clouds that encompass her, hold her tight.

At least for now.

She really should buy a watch, has no idea what the time is or how long it's been since she's left the party, and she has to get up, parade around so that the men in the room have an image to take home, something that will help them… well… get it up.

Laughter bubbles, pops loudly in the quiet space as she grips her stomach to stop the noise; the re-taped bag and the remaining powder and paraphernalia a hard edge against her hand.

Lifting the hem of her dress, she fans the flowing material, creates a draft of cool air against the skin of her thighs, the plain of her stomach. The furnace that is her body is an indication that she's only been here for half an hour at the most, and swinging her legs off the seat, she sits, prepares to leave.

Blood drains in a flood, the earth spinning dangerously from the movement, and she lifts both hands, trapping her head as she prevents it from rolling off her shoulders and hopping across the floor.

A little brown haired bunny off to conquer the world.

She stands, ecstatic to see that the horizon remains flat and stepping forward she makes her way around the table. She's more than ready to go and mingle once again, but her feet stumble in the corridor and she pivots on her toes.

Panic rips through her, and she heads back into the room as a fine line of sweat beads on her forehead, in the valley between her breasts. She'd cleaned up the evidence, removed the traces of powder from the tabletop.

Right?

Scanning the room, everything appears to be the same as when she'd walked in, and breathing deeply through her nose in relief - her paranoia was for nothing - she coughs. The residual unabsorbed granules of cocaine that were lingering in her nose, hit the back of her throat, irritating the membrane.

Ugh.

Her fingers latch onto the edge of her dress, and lifting it toward her nose, she spins to exit the room again.

"See I knew there had to be a better party going on. All I needed to do was look for it."

Coming to an abrupt halt, Kate stands frozen, her hand hanging in mid-air, her half-naked body on display and despite the screaming in her head to exit as quickly as her long legs will move, nothing happens.

Shit.

The rumble of his voice slurs slightly, extends the sound for far longer than necessary and as he takes a step out of the corridor's shadow and into the room, she sees why.

The half-empty bottle of scotch in his hand probably has something to do with that. And why is it always scotch that fucks up her life?

Dragging her stare away from the alcohol that's dangling between his fingers, she focuses forward instead, her shoulders arching back as her spine straightens and she stares at the situation head on.

Her confidence has the backing of the cocaine in her system and together she can get out of this in one piece.

"There's no party here. I was just leaving."

There's nothing but quiet for a response, his arm lifting as he brings the bottle to his lips for a taste. Well that's what she presumes. His face is still hidden in the dark and it's as if she's talking to half a man.

A giggle tumbles out of her mouth, her hand smacking her lips as she tries, too late, to smother the sound, and he takes another step toward her, his features now alight for her to gaze upon.

Her eyelids narrow as she observes the clear, blue eyes, the strong jawline, the wide, smiling mouth, and her lips curl upward without permission.

It's the stranger who had insisted she read the book.

"There's no way I could convince you to stay for a little while?" His gaze remains on her face as he lifts his eyebrows in the most accurate puppy dog look she's seen in a long time. It's adorable.

Hell, he's adorable.

Shit.

"I'd love to but I can't. I'm supposed to be making up numbers. You know, one of the girls that make a pretty party… _pretty_."

His feet stumble over themselves, a hand reaching for the closest wall and he falls into the vertical surface, a deep, never-ending chuckle bouncing off and washing over her in waves.

She's funny when she's ten feet tall and lost amid the stars above, but she's really not _that _funny.

"Are you okay?"

He pushes away from the wall, his shoulders heaving up and down, but the noise fades and with his hands extended, he propels himself onto the table. Sitting down, his wonderfully round ass smacks on the section she'd just used, and she traps her bottom lip between her teeth, is successful in preventing her amusement from spilling into the room this time.

"I…" His eyebrows draw together comically as if he's actually searching his mind for the answer. "Depends what your definition is, doesn't it?"

Fuck, isn't that the truth.

"If I head back to the party are you likely to drown in your own vomit?" Not that she cares, never that, but her tongue is loose, the electrical impulses within her system firing in a million different directions. She does love to hear the sound of her own voice after a hit.

Smiling, he winks, the action overemphasized and her heart would flutter stupidly at the sight if it could. At the way his eyes look at her, sees her, at the way his lips spread wide, a flash of impeccably straight teeth peeking through.

Oh, he could do some glorious damage with that mouth.

"No. Nothing more than pleasantly numb," he lifts the bottle, giving the remaining half a swirl. "Give me an hour, though…"

Her lips draw into a thin line, her spine becoming concrete within her skin at his words. She doesn't need to imagine that.

"Anyway, I gotta go-"

"Stay."

The word rushes from his lips, ghosts across the fine strands of hair that cover her arms and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't tempted.

But…

"Work remember. I'm not losing pay or risking future jobs for you."

No matter how ruggedly handsome he is.

"You won't get fired. I promise."

Listing her head sideways, her eyelids draw together as she stares at him. Suspicion trails down her back, an icy river at his declaration.

"How can you guarantee that?"

He places the bottle onto the table, spreads his arms wide, his palms skating across the surface as he arches, his head falling, eyes to the roof.

"Because it's my party, and what I say goes." A heavy sigh leaves his body, stretches between them, and she strides forward, her feet stopping only when they come flush with his.

What the hell is he talking about?

Raising his head, the rest of his body stays frozen, and staring down his nose, he looks again, appears to read her as if she is a page of an open book.

"I'm the man of the hour, the writer of the bestselling - soon to be three book deal - Derrick Storm mystery series. The master of the macabre." His shoulders slump, the sarcasm tainting each word of praise; words that are clearly not his own, and the impulse to reach forward, twine her arms around him takes her by surprise.

"I'm Rick Castle. Would you like me to sign your chest?"

She lifts an eyebrow, her head indicating no as the information trudges through the fog that's clouding her mind.

_Oh_.

Oh. Shit.

_This_ is the white whale. The holy grail of the bachelor world, and it seems that she's captured his attention.

* * *

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While extensive research has been done on the modeling world and cocaine use, please let me know of any inaccuracies, thank you.

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Thank you for all the wonderful words of support especially given the nature of this story. I truly appreciate them xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their beta work and hand holding xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	3. Consign to oblivion

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**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Three – Consign to oblivion

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Kate swallows down the _shit_ that thumps against her lips, begging for release, ignores the uninvited flash of triumph that rears its ugly head at the idea that she is here with him.

No one else.

The fact that she's standing before Rick Castle, the sugar daddy who is apparently on everyone's wish list, makes this situation more than a little surreal.

The fact that she'd flashed her half naked body to him a whole two minutes ago, isn't helping matters either. Although...

"My chest is fine, thanks." He can keep his pen capped, he's not signing his name anywhere on her skin, and she stares down at the famous author, her head listing to one side. He stretches further back onto the low table, his hands spreading across the surface until his spine aligns itself with the marble and he lies prone and unmoving, his face pointed toward the ceiling.

For someone who supposedly has it all - money, fans, love - he's really not at all what she'd imagined. Not that she was imagining him when Sammy spoke about snagging the white whale; Kate despises the concept of having someone in her life. But if she _had_ formed a picture in her head, she'd have gone with old and wrinkly, not sex on a stick.

Her fingers flex at the idea of sliding across the stubble that dusts his beautifully sculptured jaw, at how soft and lush his full head of hair would be beneath her hands, and her thighs tighten at the thought of what lies underneath his tailored suit.

Don't go there, Kate.

Bringing her foot forward, she nudges the toe of his polished, black shoes, and with no indication that he's still alive besides the shallow rise and fall of his chest, she clears her throat, loudly.

He propels himself up with such force that she takes a step back, her ankle bending slightly with the movement. The pain barely registers, it never does - especially not after she's done two lines - and she presses her feet down hard against the floor, her back straightening as she glares down her nose at him while attempting to gain control of what's happening.

"Shouldn't _you_ head back to your party?"

"Do you want to sit down? I don't bite."

Avoiding her question, Rick lifts his left hand, waves it slowly over the space beside him before he slaps his palm against the surface, and throwing his weight onto his arm, he raises the bottle of scotch.

His lips open, the liquid sliding into his mouth as he tips it up, and she _doesn't_ watch his throat, the way his skin moves with each swallow, the way a trickle of alcohol escapes, trailing down his chin.

Damn it.

If her last hit had created a furnace inside her body, the sight of him before her is stoking the flames into one hell of a bonfire.

But she shouldn't give any credence to such thoughts.

She should turn and walk away, go back to his book launch, be just another pretty face in a pretty crowd, because the deep, blue ocean of his eyes is going to drown her, or the broad shoulders beneath his jacket are going to save her, and she doesn't have the will to fight off either option.

He's trouble. Trouble for the steel armor that she wears. Trouble for the wall that keeps her safe. Trouble for the measured way that sees her pushing through life, one foot in front of the other.

And then he smiles.

It changes his features entirely, the bitterness that contorted his face as he'd described himself and his writing disappears, and a new man is left behind.

Trapping her bottom lip, her teeth worry the flesh as she glances at the vacant space before turning to stare behind her. The party awaits, and yet for all the trouble this could be, she can't say no.

Isn't this how she ended up with a habit that costs her most of her paycheck? Her inability to say no when the little voice of reason inside her threw itself on the floor and yelled in frustration.

"If you're sure I won't get into trouble for ditching the party?"

"I'm sure. And to be fair, you'd already ditched the party when I found you. I'm merely keeping you away longer."

He does have a point, not that she will concede it, and stepping forward, she sits on the table's edge, the rim digging into her ass uncomfortably, but that's a good thing.

She can't get too comfortable.

Not here, not with him.

* * *

The silence inside the room is made worse by the soft glow from the lamps attached to the three walls. It makes the atmosphere heavier than it should be - just two people sitting and talking. Well...

"So what's it like being an author?"

Fuck. That was as smooth as sandpaper.

He laughs, his shoulders shaking until he brings the bottle to his lips, and the room goes quiet as he takes a mouthful.

"I mean, of all the jobs in the world it would be an easy one. Right?"

Sitting and typing words onto a computer would sure as hell beat standing around while people shoved you in and out of different outfits, pulled and tugged at your hair until clumps lay on the floor, and scolded at your breasts just because they dared fluctuate in size.

"Writing is…" Rick settles the bottle onto the table before turning his body toward her, and, as he crosses his legs, his elbows angle themselves against his knees, his hands holding up his head.

He transforms from ruggedly handsome author into a little boy sitting on the mat all ready for story time and her heart would flutter in her chest if it could.

"How old are you?" Her mouth moves faster than her brain - it seems to be an ongoing theme - and she blurts the question out, her hands flying to her lips far too late.

Stupid, Kate. Just stupid.

Dropping her head, she pushes herself back, sliding away from the edge. There's room now for her feet to be on the tabletop, and, bending her knees, she hides her face against her legs.

Because this couldn't get any more embarrassing-

"What happened to your feet?" The outrage in his tone, the passion that raises his voice, has her turning to face him, but his gaze is firmly on her shoes, his mouth open wide, the horror clear.

"Oh. It's nothing."

It's the life of a model, and the reality that they only buy shoes in a few sizes; there's no guarantee that a shoe will fit.

Reaching forward, his fingers drift across the skin of her foot, across the purples and blues, the greens and yellows that form a hideous rainbow across her skin, and she shifts to place them back down on the ground, away from his pitying eyes.

She hates that look. The 'oh poor little girl, see what life has done to her' look. She's been on the receiving end of that expression far too often over the last twelve months.

His fingers encircle her ankles before she has a chance to get them all the way down, and he moves them to his lap. The warmth of his caress heats her skin, not only underneath where his hands rest, but like the first coffee on a cold morning, the sensation spreads until it's a blanket shielding her from the world.

And the trouble that was lurking becomes real. She feels. Feels the outrage in his words, the care in his touch, and then he begins working on the buckle of her shoe, and she could weep tears at the humanity of it all.

Moving ever so slowly - he avoids pulling on the leather - Rick brings both hands together in order to keep her foot steady until he frees the battered flesh from its cage.

"That has got to be better. And I'm thirty. Why? How old are you?" His head snaps up, his hands going still as they hover above her other foot, and it's almost comical. There's a flicker of fear in Rick's eyes as his gaze travels over her chest, past where her dress hitches high at the angle of her hips, and along her exposed thighs.

"I'm twenty." She doesn't point out that she's over age, after all it's not like tonight is going to end like that. They're just sitting and talking. And removing pieces of her outfit… but that's it. Right?

His fingers go back to work on her foot, the feather like touch is all too familiar. Her dad would brush her knees like this whenever she crashed her bike, he'd dust across her skin while declaring that his Katie needed to look before she leaped, and her eyelids slam shut.

Not now.

Gripping the memory, she shoves it back into the box it escaped from, controls her breathing as Rick tenderly removes her other shoe.

She has to let it go.

"Do you want a drink?" He breathes the question into the curve of her ear, and as a shudder descends the stairs of her spine, she opens her eyes, glancing between the bottle and his face. The worry lines indenting his forehead stand out on what should be smooth skin; he shouldn't be worrying about her, she's not worth it.

"Alcohol can kill. And giving me a drink would be illegal." She attempts to inject humor into her tone, but his eyes narrow, the concern rolling off him in waves, and he stares at her with scepticism.

He reaches forward, his thumb floating along her cheekbone before he slides down, across the skin below her nose, and withdrawing his hand, he holds it between them. The smallest amount of white granules cling to him, and panic floods through her body, her chest rising and falling in nothing more than short, sharp jerks.

Flickering her gaze to his face - there's no condemnation, no judgement in his expression - she then glances at the bottle on the table.

Maybe, just maybe despite the overwhelming differences in their lives he might have an understanding about what it is to crave a substance, what it is to shed one's skin and be something other than what you are.

Maybe he is trouble.

When has that ever stopped her?

She reaches for his hand, encircles his wrist with her fingers, and, ignoring the moan that vibrates in her chest at how wonderfully firm his skin is under her own, she inches her head forward, her tongue darting out to lick the tiniest trace of cocaine from his thumb.

The deep breath he takes, the intense rush of air moving into his lungs, is his only visible reaction and a smirk tugs at her lips. His body remains frozen, and, rolling the dice, she takes a chance, uses her teeth to scrape the underside of his thumb, clipping the heel of his palm.

His fingers curl, and brushing his knuckles across her jaw, he places his closed fist under her chin, nudging her head up to bring them nose to nose. For far too many seconds their eyes stay caught, locked on each other, the blue in his disappearing as the black of his pupils swallows it whole. The desire that's stretching her skin, pulling it until it snaps, is reflected in his own expression and she leans forward, removes the gap between their mouths.

The scotch coating his tongue hits her like a punch to the stomach, and her lips close as she moves to withdraw, but his fingers slide through the strands of her hair, pulling tight on the pins that hold it in place. Pain shoots across her scalp, her thighs squeezing together as the ache slices down her body, and her ass grinds against the hard surface of the table.

The gentle touch of before is smothered by the lust in his grip and this, this is something she can deal with. This is something her body understands and she pushes herself forward again, her teeth hitting his as she urges him on.

Bringing her hands to his shoulders, she shoves at his jacket, and, lifting her body over his thighs where his legs remain crossed, she sits, bracketing his hips with her knees.

Fuck.

She's already going under, her head slipping beneath the waves as his solid frame crashes into hers.

He's trouble.

His hands leave her head, his arms shaking behind him to assist his jacket as it falls to the table and her fingers begin working on the buttons of his shirt, her lips drifting across his jaw line as she avoids the taste on his tongue.

Avoiding is an art form she mastered long ago.

The impatience crawls under her skin the closer she gets to him, and tugging the halves of his shirt apart, the last three buttons rip clear, exposing his chest to her mouth. Her teeth smack into his collarbone, her fingers finding the tight muscles of his biceps as his shirt joins his jacket, and, gripping, her nails pierce his skin like claws.

Using the leverage, she rocks her pelvis hard into his, craves the sting as the edge of his zipper scrapes between her thighs, and this time her moan breaks free from her lips even as she attempts to suppress it into his skin.

"Shit." The rasp of his profanity is proof that she's not the only one crashing and burning, and she slides her hands down, trapping the button of his pants between her fingers.

"Shit." Rolling her eyes as he repeats the sentiment again - because really as good as this is, it's nothing compared to how good it will get - she flips the disc that's holding his pants up, going in for the kill.

"Stop."

What? Stop this? He's got to be joking?

"Seriously. Stop. I've got no protection. And I don't fuck without it."

Her head snaps up at the vehemence in his words, the hard edge that cuts across her skin and her eyelids narrow at the animosity in his tone.

Lifting both hands, he cradles her face, his tender caress such a contrast to the pain that's contorting his face, and her head angles in confusion.

"Are you… sick?" There's so much out there, so many things to be careful of, and edging back, she creates a gap between them.

He huffs a little, his head indicating no, but the ache that's settling deeper into the lines of his face tells a different story, and she stupidly has to find out why.

"What happened to you?"

His hands drop as his fingers play with the hem of her dress. The intensity of what they were going to do ebbs slowly from her body, and she curses herself. She shouldn't have asked, doesn't want to hear his life story, about why his eyes shadow with memories of a past.

"Nothing. Nothing but a stupid girl who destroyed something that I wanted, even though I promised her everything. It was a chance at a different life. At something more than this existence."

He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along the low edge of her stomach, yet her mind is too fuzzy to put the pieces together, because as much as she should care about the why, distraction seems a much better alternative for them both.

It's always worked for her when the anguish of what could have been overtakes what is.

Pushing on his shoulders, she encourages him down onto his back, and, as he lies beneath her, her tongue traces her lips, her fingers going back to work on his pants.

"Give me ten minutes and you won't remember your name, let alone hers."

There's more than one way to skin a cat and there's more than one way to slip into oblivion.

* * *

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Thank you all so very much on continuing with this story even with the nature of its content, and, thank you to all that take a moment to review.

I am very grateful for you and your loving hearts xoxo

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Thank you to the ever wonderful Jo and Jamie for finding the time to beta even with their own ficathons being written xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	4. Please

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**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Four – Please

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Kate's fingers grip the zipper tab, and, tugging it down, she deliberately scrapes her knuckles alongside the hard ridge within his pants. Groaning from beneath her, Rick's spine arches, his head bending to face away as he bucks on top of the table, and the hesitant smile on her lips morphs into a smirk.

Nothing is better than having a person's pleasure in your hands… unless it's their pain.

Reaching forward, she cuts a nail across the plain of his stomach, the firm muscles of his abdomen contracting under the pressure, and she continues until the elastic of his silk boxers hinders her progress.

And she can't have that.

She digs her finger between the band and his skin, and, moving ever so slowly, she raises her head, watches his face as it twists, the lines around his eyes becoming more pronounced as he squeezes them closed.

His hand wraps around her wrist, and, pulling her out from his boxers, he sits. The unexpectedness of his actions, his face now so close to her own, leaves her high on her knees, her jaw dropping open.

What the fuck is it now?

"It's only right that ladies come first."

The air rushes from her chest, her shoulders smacking the cold, marble surface, and angling her head up, she glares down her body at him and his cocky grin. He's managed to flip her onto her back, her thighs stretching wide as he settles himself between them, his knees bearing the brunt of his weight.

She should protest his idiotic move, _would_ protest, except his hands come to rest at the slant of her knees, drifting along her skin as the blunt edges of his nails rake ever so perfectly, and her mouth bites down on her tongue and on her objection.

Inching higher and higher, he finally reaches the thin scrap of material that's covering her, and with a finger either side, he trails along the edge, away from where he should be heading, away from the ache that's constricting the muscles of her rear, and reaching the jut of her hips, he mimics her earlier actions, hooks a finger under, grabbing ahold of her thong.

The tiny scrap of white satin doesn't resist and he shimmies it down her legs easily, encouraging her thighs together as he moves off the table allowing for its exit past her toes.

"Do _not_ lose my underwear."

It sounds stupid, even to her own ears, but she'll have to put them back on at some point tonight, god forbid she flash more than just Rick Castle, and a silent laugh shakes her shoulders.

This is most definitely not how she _ever_ expected her night to go and-

Fuck.

His hands grip her thighs, drawing them apart again, and using his knees to hold her open, he leans forward, the solid weight of him knocking into her _oh_ so wonderfully. But it isn't enough, and pushing down with her hips she chases the pressure, the lower half of her body rolling forcefully as she attempts to get him closer to where he should be.

Hard against her clit, bringing her to the edge of euphoria so she can crash in spectacular fashion.

Grasping the edge of her dress, he ghosts it across her skin, brings it higher and higher, his hips moving back - not forward - and with the loss of contact, she grinds her teeth together, closes her lips lest she beg for more.

More contact. More him.

He places his mouth on the protruding bones of her ribs - the band below her breasts prevents her dress from lifting above them - and with the softest of touches, Rick kisses the skin of her abdomen.

Everywhere but where the bag is taped to her skin.

She arches her ass high in the air, before coming down hard to grind against the table, and repeating the movement, she desperately seeks out _something_ to alleviate the throb, the ache that's been abandoned as he continues to dot kiss after kiss on her exposed stomach.

And then he reads her mind.

Using both hands, he inches his fingers along the outer length of her thighs, trailing delicately over her skin before cupping her rear. He nudges her up, her body bowing inward, her head elevating and with eyes locked, his tongue flickers in greeting. Licking his lips, his head descends, and as he sucks with a skill that leaves her breathless, her body rocks, hard, over and over as it demands its release.

If he can see what she's trying to do - she'd put money on it - he's ignoring it. The way he caresses is feather like, gentle, tender, and her eyes squeeze closed. It all becomes too much. It's not just her flesh that is exposed, she's lying bare before him, wide-open and as his hands brush and knead the skin of her rear the emotions in his touch make the cracks within her soul visible.

Hard and fast is what her body and mind can deal with, but this... This is ripping her to shreds.

Swallowing the sob as it travels up her throat, she shoves his hands and mouth off her, twisting before him to lie on her stomach. She buries her head into the angle of her elbow, brings her knees toward her chest, forcing her spine to bend as her ass lifts high.

He can't see her, not like this. Not the raw jagged pieces of the incomplete puzzle that she really is, and thankfully his body comes closer, his hand skimming around her hips, his fingers sliding hard between her thighs.

This is what she craves.

Finding a rhythm, her body jerks forward and back, creates a punishing tempo against the two fingers he's placed on her as he at last concedes to her demands. His teeth scrape the skin on her back, his hips thrusting in time with her own, the material of his pants scuffing the backs of her thighs.

The muscles of her stomach contract, as the beat of her blood pounds in her ears, along the arch of her spine, down her thighs until her knees slip further apart as she searches for a euphoria that isn't there, that isn't coming.

Fuck, she has to have him inside her.

She smothers her mouth into the skin of her arm, muffles the wretched plea of 'please' as it escapes. Please end this, end her, end the search for release. If he hears her, he doesn't alter his movements. The two fingers on either side of her clit, stroke her in a regularity that is keeping her on the edge, her toes curled, her body tight, yet the oblivion she desires is just out of reach.

Fuck this. Fuck him.

"Please."

The whimper tastes dirty on her tongue; she's never pleaded before and come hell or high water she never will again, but whatever hold Rick manages to have on her body, on her mind, it's too much for her to argue against tonight.

And if nothing else, payback's a bitch.

Huffing against her skin, he kisses her twice, his tongue darting to taste the ridge of her spine, before he gives in, gives her what she'd asked for, and, applying the perfect amount of compression, his fingers accelerate their dance, become one with her body.

Sweat beads along her skin, the inferno so very close to consuming her whole. The weight of their bodies push her breasts hard against the table, the confinement of her dress scratching her sensitive nipples as they move faster. Moaning, the muscles of her inner thigh stretch, snap under the strain as she clamps down on nothing but air.

Shit, why isn't he inside her?

The intensity claws within, her body reaching a breaking point, and as his fingers twist sharply, her head snaps up, her knees losing their grip on the table, her body crashing into nirvana.

Oh, fuck indeed.

* * *

Looking up, Kate squints and the ceiling comes into focus. At some point, as the shudders ebbed from her body, she'd rolled on to her back, the world still spinning, and for the first time in a long time it has nothing to do with the cocaine in her system.

Rick Castle's talents don't just lie in the field of writing, and, sliding her elbows behind her, she drags herself up.

With a smile stretching across his face, he stands at her feet, his shins hitting the table as he watches her descend back to reality, and she crawls onto her knees, trying not to twist her face as her thighs slide uncomfortably together.

Where's a bathroom when you need it?

She scans the room, searches for anything that could be used as a cloth, and as her gaze comes to rest on his discarded button up, she gnaws on the inside of her cheek. That's probably considered bad manners.

Grasping the edge of her dress, she bends, increases the available material, and reaching between her legs-

"Hey, stop. You'll wreck your dress."

Her actions come to an awkward halt, her head lifting, her eyebrow following suit - what else is she meant to do? - and spinning on the spot, he joins her hunt for _something_.

It's hardly surprising to her when he comes up just as empty handed, and yet, as his hand rises to indicate for her to stay stopped, he lifts a foot, toeing off one shoe, before the other.

"Ummm. My dress will live." Because the idea of his dirty socks…

The socks end up on top of his shoes though, and the pull of her eyebrows drawing together, ripples the skin above her nose - no doubt leading to wrinkles.

What is he doing?

Wiggling his ass, he tugs his pants down, and laughter bubbles in her chest - damn it, that is one fine ass - but she traps it within, refuses to let the sound out even as her lips curl up. She smiles at his antics, at the way his demeanor shifts from the bored to the cocky and now to the humorous.

But, which one is he really?

The mask that she wears hides a multiple of sins, gives an illusion that is so far from the truth even she has trouble seeing what is buried underneath it all, and most moments of the day that's how she prefers it.

But, which one is she really?

Her head shakes, the misery of what's inside rattles as she attempts to dislodge the unwanted thoughts from taking up what little time she has left with Rick.

Holding his silk boxers toward her, he waits as she purposely clears all expression from her face, the air of indifference sliding comfortably home, and, taking them from him, she stares at the sight before her.

With not a stitch of clothing on, he stands relaxed, a soft smile lifting one corner of his mouth, and while he sure as hell has nothing to be ashamed of, he appears a little too happy to be bare.

"Have you ever posed nude before?"

He chuckles at that, laughs disproportionately considering her question and her head angles as she makes use of the boxers.

"No. But I once rode a police horse naked."

Of course he did.

"Let me guess, a bottle of scotch was involved?"

His stare flickers away from her face, halts on her abdomen and the unseen package underneath her dress before going back to see into her again, to see far more than he should.

"It was vodka…"

The sentence goes nowhere and together they stand, the reality of who they are and what they do to get through the day far too transparent and it unleashes a coil of panic.

She's used to being noticed yet never seen. And he's seeing far too much of her. Not the skin and flesh - everyone has witnessed that - it's the broken pieces of her heart, torn and unused, which he's peering into.

Fuck, she can't deal with that.

Striding forward, her fingers drift across the muscles of his abdomen, skim down over his skin, until, with him semi erect in the palm of her hand, she scrapes a nail carefully along the underside of his length.

He bucks his hips, lips squeezing together as the rest of his body remains frozen, and while she could applaud his restraint, it's not what she is aiming for.

The promise she'd given him was for him to forget his name, and the name of whomever had screwed with his life, and she intends on delivering.

Nodding toward the table, she releases him, and walking backward, he moves until he can sit onto the surface - waits for her.

She places a finger between her teeth, her eyes never leaving his, and, as she stalks toward him, the rise and fall of his chest increases in tempo. Descending slowly, her hands draw his legs further apart and she fits herself in between.

The firm muscles of his thighs are a stark contrast to the scratchy carpet irritating the skin on her knees, and trailing higher, the nails on her fingers leave white lines behind. She lowers her mouth, hollowing out her cheeks as she takes him inside.

Expecting him to grab a fistful of her hair or control her head, she peers upward in surprise when neither happens. Her eyes search his face, and, while it contorts in obvious pleasure, his hands seize the edge of the table, his biceps contracting under the pressure.

He leaves her alone.

Her fingers meet her tongue at the base of his erection, and, moving together, she applies enough pressure as she pulls back, a deep groan vibrating through his chest.

Smirking, she shifts forward, repeating her actions.

"Richard!"

Jerking back as he flies forward, his hands latch onto her shoulders, preventing her from toppling to the floor and together they turn, mouths open, to focus on the interruption.

Who the hell are they?!

* * *

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Thank you for all the support for this story, your words are truly appreciated xoxo

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Thank you to Jo (and a belated yet heartfelt thank you for your amazing cover art) and Jamie for all their hard work and love xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	5. Walk away

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**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Five – Walk away

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

"Richard!"

Kate's head twists awkwardly, her attention shifting to the two women who stand in the entrance, their combined voices having destroyed the moment that was just her and Rick.

With hands on their hips, they glare at him, and Kate turns her back on them, her eyes shifting to his. The muscles of his thighs are contracting under her fingers, his body freezing as he sits at the edge of the table, yet it's the recognition that flitters across his face that has Kate inhaling sharply.

"Gina! Paula! What the hell?"

His hands loosen their grip on her shoulders, his fingers sliding down her arm as he draws her close, and the realization that he's very much naked on the table hits her. He hasn't just been caught with his pants down, they're well and truly off, and lifting high onto her knees again, she shields him as best she can while throwing a glare of her own toward the interruption.

She really has no idea what the fuck is going on, but putting on a brave face seems the best course of action. She's not going to run and hide from this. From them. Not yet.

"_What the hell is going on?_" Tugging on her suit jacket, the blonde snorts through her nose, her lips twisting; the snarl in her words echoing the expression on her face. "Really, shouldn't _we _be asking that question?"

Her eyelids narrow, her glare focusing on Kate before traveling slowly down. Her look of dissatisfaction is clear and the action grates across every one of Kate's nerves.

To be found on her knees, her mouth wrapped around Rick, is damn embarrassing, but to be looked at as if she's nothing more than a bad taste that needs to be spat out hits far too close to home.

She really is nothing but a barely functioning mess.

"It's none of your business, Gina. And you can both leave. Now." Rick hisses the command and Kate's focus jerks back to him. His face appears carved from stone, vacant of all expression, his mask well and truly in place, and she mimics his actions, wipes her own features clear.

"We're not going anywhere. And would you put some clothes on!"

"Last time I checked, Gina, you're my publisher, not my wife. And seriously, it's not like you two haven't seen me naked before."

Kate's jaw drops at that bombshell, her attempt at remaining neutral disappearing as her head wrenches frantically between the warring parties.

What exactly did he mean by that?

As if sensing her astonishment - although, she's hardly in a place to judge considering what they've just been doing - he glances down at her, a shoulder lifting as he shrugs half-heartedly. "It wasn't at the same time."

Well, that makes it a little better. Maybe?

"Don't be crude, Rick. Thankfully it was just once and the past is easily forgotten."

Turning back to Gina, Kate's eyes widen further because for the life of her, she can't work out how anything Rick could do would be forgettable.

And alarm bells ring.

What does she really know about him except how his mouth, his tongue brought her to the edge, leaving her desperate to throw herself from a cliff. How spectacular his fingers were as they danced across her skin until she'd touched the sky...

"Anyway, the point is you were due to go on stage twenty minutes ago, so no, we can't leave you here to go back to your blow-"

"Enough."

He doesn't shout. Doesn't yell. Instead, his reprimand is spoken low, riddled with hurt, and the hairs along Kate's arms rise. Moving back, she creates a gap allowing her fingers to curl as she tucks them tight against her ribs, her elbows jutting out where she crosses them.

This isn't the man who was putty in her hands, and it's not even the bored author. This is offended, upset, and while she shouldn't, there's a tiny part inside of her that wishes she knew him enough to know why.

Worse yet, that tiny part - buried deep under layers of anguish and cocaine - wishes there was a way to make him better.

It's ludicrous. She can't even take care of herself.

Standing up, Rick stares at Gina, each party silent as they continue their impasse, and that newfound protective instinct inside of Kate has her following suit, there by his side.

Actually, it's more slightly in front of him, her body screening his, even if they have seen it all before.

"Give us five minutes and we'll be back at the party." There's no question in his words as his palm settles against her hip, his fingers gripping the material of her dress. It's a display of unity, them against the others, either that or he's just grabbing ahold of something, but the first one sounds so much better in her head.

Them against the world.

Fuck, Kate, what a way to get sentimental over a stranger who you'll never see again.

"You don't have five minutes!" The dark strands bounce as Paula shakes her head, her Queen's accent like nails on a chalkboard, and clicking her fingers, she points at Kate. "Darlin', what's ya name?"

Kate's eyebrows climb high as the attention shifts to her, and throwing a fleeting glance toward Rick, she finds her voice. "It's Kate."

"Well, _Kate_, I think it's best if you head out, don't you?"

Paula is probably right, whatever is between Rick and the other two doesn't really involve her… yet her feet don't move, her spine stays ramrod straight.

Apparently she's not going anywhere at the moment.

"Kate."

Breathing into the curve of her ear, the warmth from his mouth drifts down her neck, a loose strand of hair dancing against her cheek. It's the first time he's said her name - shit they didn't even have a proper introduction - and a shiver cascades down her back, rippling the skin on her arms.

If it affects her this much, standing here with an audience, what in the world would it do to her in the heat of the moment, his body hard and fast against her own?

Not that it matters. Not now. Not ever.

And why does _that _concept lodge a lump in her throat and a burn in her eyes?

"Yeah, Rick."

"You'd better…"

She pivots to face him, her gaze lifting to meet his, and they remain still, her reluctance mirrored in the slump of his bare shoulders.

And she should say something, anything that would extend this moment... But lifting her chin, she draws her shoulders back, spins and walks toward the corridor.

"Kate."

Her footsteps falter at the way he calls out to her, and darting a quick glance at Gina and Paula - their impatience wrinkling the corner of their mouths - Kate looks at Rick again.

Offering her the smallest of smiles, he bends, a hand picking up the scrap of satin from the table's surface and his movements, all done naked, would have her laughing loudly if she wasn't totally mortified.

Fuck.

The heat blossoms under her skin, the blood surging up and across her cheeks as she strides toward Rick, deliberately ignoring the others. If she can just keep it together long enough to get her thong and get out of here - intact - then she can run home, forget tonight ever happened.

She doesn't want to forget, though.

There's something here, something that there shouldn't be. Something that's slashing through the armor that she wears. The one she slung across her shoulders after her parents died. The one she's kept on as she sacrifices more of herself to get through each day.

Rick's fingers have crept under the collar, have loosened its hold on her, and the idea of not seeing him again surges in her veins, creating a buzz that has nothing to do with the cocaine in her system.

Damn it.

That's enough.

"Thanks." Doing her best to look through him, Kate reaches for her thong, ignores his fingers as they curl into the material, trapping her, the way his free hand stretches, clinging to the curve of her hip.

Get out. Get out now, while she still can.

His head bends, his nose gliding across the arch of her cheekbone, until he settles against her ear. "Any chance I could see you again? We could go out for dinner. Finish what we started."

No. No, don't do this to her.

His touch has left scorch marks across her skin, his lips have seared her flesh, and as much as every stupid part of her wants nothing more to reply with a yes, this can never be.

It's time to let him go.

"It was nice to meet you, Rick." Pulling back, she creates a gap between them, but it's not enough, she has to leave, and her eyes close as his hand falls, the cool air taking his place against her body all too quickly.

Pivoting, she walks away, again, holds her head high as she passes Gina and Paula, and with each step further from him, her resolve strengthens.

This is the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

And if she says it enough times, maybe she'll start to believe it.

* * *

Unlocking the fifth dead bolt of her apartment, Kate finally opens the door, and as her feet trudge through the gap, she allows the night to push her closer to the floor.

Any closer and she'll be crawling.

Undoing the clasps on her heels, she leaves them where they fall, propping herself up against the couch that doubles as her bed; left unfolded and unmade, the sheets are tempting. She could just lie down, let sleep overtake, but it's never that easy.

Insomnia is her constant companion. She spends her nights with her eyelids closed, her hands over her ears as she attempts to block out the craving that itches her skin. The whisper that roars for just one more hit, until eventually her body caves to the exhaustion, passing out only to wake and find that her dreams were just that. Dreams.

She could have been anything, anyone, once upon a time.

Pushing away, she crosses the room, enters the only private area. The bathroom is barely two lengths of her arms at its widest point, and if nothing else, at least everything is in reaching distance.

_Find a silver lining, Katie, because even on the wors__t__ day there's the possibility for joy._

Her forehead thumps against the cool surface of the cracked mirror, her father's words creeping out of their fortified box, and with a shaking hand, she brushes away the tear that's escaped as well.

Tonight has left her far too exposed, everything bursting free of its usual constraints.

Reaching for the faucet, Kate turns on the hot before hovering over the cold. It will hurt, it will burn, but the pain is welcome, the punishment required.

It's the second easiest way to forget.

The cold tap remains untouched, and stretching to the back of her dress, she works at the bindings, her fingers slipping as her body contracts, goes rigid with frustration.

Nothing is going right.

Giving one last tug, it falls away, and a sob of relief leaves her mouth, her body now bare, except for the thong she'd slipped on after leaving Rick, and the bag taped to her chest.

If there is any chance of sleep, her first preference for forgetting isn't an option, and ripping the tape off her skin, she tosses the bag through the open doorway, aims for the small table beside her bed. It'll be there, waiting for when she can no longer stand to be apart from it.

She hooks a thumb under the satin band across her hips, slides the material off, and stepping into the shower, the fire within the water slices her skin, the bolts of lava consuming her every thought.

The pain drives it all away, until her hand brushes the skin of her abdomen.

Rick had touched her there, had dusted kiss after kiss across every dip and plain, his fingers drifting high, then low, and the force of the shower is no comparison to the intensity that he had applied to her body.

Forget, Kate.

Cupping her breasts with both hands, she kneads the tender flesh, the water reddening her skin, and cutting a nail across the tip, her eyes close.

She's never needed someone in her life before meeting him. She doesn't need one now.

With her left hand pinching her nipple tightly, she lowers her right, slides it across her stomach, finds herself slick to touch.

It's not because of him, though, no…

Not the ghost of his fingers, the way he had encircled her, his body a solid weight behind, his mouth-

Enough.

Twisting the water off, she throws the towel around herself.

The sleep that she will miss, the excess energy that will rip her skin apart is no longer a concern; _he _and his damn memory will not be what holds her hostage tonight.

There's enough cocaine in her apartment to do that for her.

* * *

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Thank you so very much for all the support this story is receiving, each review brings a surge of joy xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for all the effort that goes into betaing and for their friendship xoxo

.

Thank you for reading xoxo


	6. You might enjoy it

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**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Six – You might enjoy it

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

"Who the hell put you in this bra, Kate?" The man next to her ear booms his displeasure - half a dozen heads turning in her direction - and Kate stands still, lets Pierre's tirade run its course.

The backstage area of the fashion show is like all the others she's had to attend this week. This year. Frantic, noisy, and packed with people that either don't want to be here, or those that want to be here just a little too much. Starving models, overdressed hair and make-up artists, and unhappy designers.

Joy.

Throwing his hands up, Pierre eyes narrow, scanning the room. Appearing to catch sight of someone to blame for the fact that her strapless bra is dark blue, not turquoise, he strides off muttering, and Kate sighs.

She'll just stand here in the mini skirt and the thin bit of lace until he decides otherwise, apparently.

Squeezing her lips together, she stifles the yawn that heaves her chest forward, her gaze drifting around the room. There are three perfectly styled heads bent over the table in the very back corner, a bamboo divider haphazardly shoved in front, but it does nothing to conceal what is occurring, and jealousy flares through her body.

They then stand as one, sharing the spritzer of water that someone was thoughtful enough to place on top of the glass table - clearing their nostrils - and she weighs up the odds of getting over there and back before Pierre returns, correct bra in hand.

The shit she will get into if she is not standing perfectly still awaiting his return isn't worth it. He'll be back soon enough and then she can have her turn.

Unlike the party scene, here they only take a line each, are civilized and orderly about their substance abuse.

"Kate." The squawk of her name drags her attention away from the table, but as she angles to the left, Lisa's perky face greets her - fellow model and major pain in the ass - and Kate's focus goes back to the cocaine in the corner of the room.

The whisper of "fuck it all," slithers across the floorboards, curling up her ankle as it begs for her to approach.

"Kate!"

"What, Lisa?" Maybe, just maybe, if she refuses to turn toward the other girl again, she will receive the hint and disappear.

Yeah. That's as likely as Kate turning to see her mother standing by her side.

Never going to happen.

"Peter wants to know what happened to your photo spread?"

Inhaling sharply through her nose, the air burns as it travels along, and Kate pushes her top teeth over her lip, drawing it into her mouth as she holds her breath.

She's been putting off the photo shoot for the last four days, not that she has any idea why…

Liar.

Peter might be the designer of the moment, determining the list that everyone wants to be on, including herself - the pay is steady, the hours reasonable - but it comes at a cost. Vincent is the photographer he uses, and Vincent has a well-earned reputation.

"You're not avoiding it are you, Kate?" The laugh in the other girl's words slaps across her face, and Kate turns, glares at the interfering bitch.

"How is this any of your concern?"

Except of course to gloat and rub it in that she has perfect photos as a result of her session. And hell, it's not like Kate hasn't been in this position before. She's done what she's needed to do to keep a roof over her head, cocaine in her system. Photographers have the power; they decide what is shot and how well it will be done.

In the early hours of the morning, when she wakes, sweat pooling in the valleys of her body, she tells herself that it's no different to a one-night stand…

Liar.

"Oh, Kate. I just want to ensure that the best possible candidates are in the running for Peter's list."

Yeah. Sure.

"Kate?" Turning to look behind her, the warm, hesitant question of her name thankfully interrupts her conversation - lest Kate reach across and tug on the models ear until her jewelry rips free - but all her gratitude vanishes as her eyes widen in shock.

"What are you doing here?"

"I… well… you see."

His perfectly formed lips widen in an O, the blue eyes that have been haunting her dreams, flicker up and down her body as his hand lifts, covering his mouth, and her thighs contract. It's not like every time she's touched herself over the last four days she's imagined that it was his hands, not her own, sliding across her skin, that it was his fingers, not hers, that brought her to euphoria, over and over…

Liar.

"Rick. What are you doing here?"

Focusing on her face, the corner of his mouth lifts before settling back in to its neutral position, and she arches an eyebrow, waits for an answer.

"I... may have asked the event planner from my party to track you down and then used that information to call around to see where you'd most likely be, and then gone to those different events until…" His rambling tapers off, the puppy dog expression that had enthralled her the first time she'd seen it is just as adorable and he uses it to his advantage, can apparently already tell that she is a sucker for that move.

"That's-"

That's kind of adorable too.

"Creepy." Lisa interrupts, her face contorting as she expresses her disgust, and yeah, okay, tracking her down like that is a little creepy, but she has some manners, and she sure as hell won't be saying that to Rick.

His head dips down, pink blossoming across his skin, up his neck and across the perfectly curved cheekbones of his face, and Kate reaches for his hand, entangles their fingers together.

Wasn't she supposed to be letting him go? Never seeing him again? Staying clear of trouble? Ignoring the way that he affected her capacity to remain closed off and unfeeling to the world?

"I think it's charming, Rick. Ignore Lisa."

Smiling sweetly, Kate glares at the other girl, her expression contradictive, but Lisa returns the sentiment, her own mouth contradicting the arrogance in her eyes.

"You can ignore me all you like, but Vincent is expecting you tonight, seven, sharp." The smirk on her lips twists the knife further into Kate, and pivoting on the spot, Lisa throws a winning glance over her shoulder, eyeing Rick with glee.

"And, Kate. My advice would be to lie back and enjoy it. God knows you could do with a good fuck."

* * *

Kate's mouth opens, the nasty retort perched on the edge of her tongue-

"What does she mean by that?" Ricks words are low, barely audible over the noise inside the room, and she swallows. How is she to explain her current predicament?

"It's nothing. I have a-"

"There you are, Kate." Pierre interrupts, a turquoise bra in hand, and seeming to give no regard to the fact that she is clearly in the middle of a conversation with Rick, he steps between the two of them.

"Waiting where you left me." Despite all longing to be elsewhere.

Reaching for her arms, he raises them above her head, and like a puppet she stretches under his hands, holds them high as he unhooks her current bra.

Rick's eyes become discs, his jaw falling as he stares at her naked breasts, before appearing to come back to himself. Angling his head to the right, he's deliberate in his look around the room, but his mouth widens further.

He must have had blinders on when he walked in, because, as his stare flickers from one model to the next in various stages of dress, he clearly comprehends that there is no such thing as modesty in the modeling world.

"Ah. Do they- are you-" his eyes lock with hers again. "Are you not given change rooms?"

Standing still - Pierre fastening the correct bra around her - she elevates an eyebrow, her head shaking slightly as she indicates no, and Rick goes back to examining the room again.

"Seriously?"

As Pierre begins tying the thin straps that will hold her top in place, the see through material shimmering with each tug, Kate glances around, tries to see what Rick sees.

This is normal. This is life.

"You're on in ten, Kate." Walking away without a backward glance, Pierre moves on to his next victim, and dropping her arms to her side, she gives her hands a shake, the sharp stabs of pain traveling up as the blood returns to her limbs.

"I should probably let you get back to it." Rick's lips turn down, his eyebrows knitting together as he looks at her again.

"Yeah."

"I just- Are you doing anything tonight?"

Shrugging one shoulder, the weight of reality so heavy that it only just moves, she reminds him. "I have to go to a photo shoot."

With Vincent. Just lie back and enjoy.

Shit.

"Oh. Yeah." Rick's body leans a little to his left as he pauses, searching her face. "What did that other girl mean? When she was talking about you needing a good-"

His mouth slams shut, awareness dawning, his eyes clouding over and he stands tall before her.

"Are you? Is he?"

The way he asks, the contempt, the disgust that leeches out, has her own body straightening, each muscle constricting.

Who the hell does Rick think he is?

Isn't it bad enough that she is put into this position? Now she has to be judged on the less than optimal choices that make up her life.

"Is it any of your business?"

"Well…" His head shakes slowly, his lips opening and closing. "You're going to fuck him?"

"I was going to fuck you."

Silence crashes down on them, her breath coming in short, sharp rasps, her teeth clamping down on her tongue, because she really didn't mean to say that. To compare what they were going to do with what she will be expected to do tonight.

Avoiding her stare, Rick scans the room, the line of his jaw becoming a razor edge, and whatever is going through his mind appears to clear.

"You need photos taken? A photographer?"

"Yes, I need to present a photo spread to Peter, he's the designer that everyone wants to work for. It's like a comp card, but with more photos, less flashy details."

What the hell is Rick getting at?

"A comp card is? Wait, never mind?" His hand waves between them, cancelling his question. "But you just need a photographer. Someone other than this guy."

The smile on his features, the triumph that lifts his features is a slap in her face.

"Yes, Rick. I'm going to walk into the bank and withdraw the thousands of dollars needed to hire a different photographer." The barbed wire that coils out her mouth slashes the air between them, and he takes a step back. "And with all of my invisible money, I will flip through my contact list and call up this skilled person, whom I don't know, and get them to do my photo spread, tonight, in my crappy studio apartment."

Inhaling, she sucks in all the air she'd used with her sarcastic rant, her shoulders dropping at the likelihood of that ever happening.

About zero and shit all.

"Come to my place tonight." The sentence rushes out his mouth, and her fingers curl. Has he not heard a word of what she's said?

"I mean, come to mine tonight and I can have a photographer there for you. To do your photo shoot, spread thing, whatever it is you need."

Her hands lift, thumping against her head and she pushes down on her hair, the pins needling her scalp.

"Kate! You're supposed to be in the line-up." Pierre's scream rips across the room. "For fuck's sake, people. Get ready to go."

"I- look, Rick-"

Twisting her head between where she should be standing and him, the world spins, swirling too fast and out of control.

"Kate. Here," Rick searches through the pocket of his pants, pulling out a napkin, before going back in, this time withdrawing a pen the size of his thumb, and scrawling on it, he then shoves the paper into her hand. "Call me when you are done here. And I'll have everything set up."

Her fingers close around his number, against her better judgment, and for a moment, she contemplates saying yes.

"I can take care of you, Kate. You don't need to screw him, not when you have me."

What the hell did he just say?

Jerking back in his direction, her vision narrows to mere slits, her arms crossing over her chest.

"I don't need anyone to take care of me, Rick." The k snaps like brittle glass. "And I don't need to owe _you_ any _favors_, either."

With one last glare, Kate spins, stalks toward where the other girls are lining up, her head held high as her heart plummets to the floor, breaking into shards. This is why he was always trouble. This is why she was supposed to never get involved. Men are all the same.

How is the expectation to fuck Rick any different to what already awaits her tonight?

* * *

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Thank you for all the smiles your support inspired. They are definitely the rays of sunshine of this winter! Xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their constant pompoms and hard beta work xoxo

.

Thank you for reading xoxo


	7. Comparison

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**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Seven – Comparison

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Kate brings her knuckles to the wooden surface, and resting them against the front door, she pauses, the war inside her continuing to rage. She has to knock, has to go in, has to get these photos taken, and when he asks how good a job he should do, she has to reply, "The best," no matter the cost that comes with it.

You're only as good as your last campaign.

She doesn't want to be famous, though, has turned down major offers in her bid to be nobody, but working for Peter would be regular income, regular hours, at least for a little while, and if she has to screw his photographer to get there, then that's what she'll do.

Knocking, her eyes close as she waits, her hands dropping as she shoves them into her pockets, and the scrunched up napkin inside one brushes against her fingers.

There is another option - Rick - but pride comes before a fall, and as the door to the massive art studio creaks in movement, she opens her eyes, faces the impending crash landing.

"Kate, so glad you could make it." Vincent's brown eyes don't meet hers, his gaze already traveling down her body, across the tank top she'd thrown on over her bare chest, along the pleated skirt that brushes the tops of her thighs every time she shifts. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up."

Lifting one shoulder, her fingers curl into the palm of her hands, her nails creating crescent indentations. Concealed within her skirt, he can't see the effect he's already having, the disgust that's churning her stomach, and she inches her chin higher, looks down her nose with indifference.

He can take what he wants from her body, but he's not getting any emotion from her. Not that there's much left.

She had well and truly decimated her supply of cocaine before leaving, her skin now rippling with the excess energy, her flesh numb, her heart buried so far underneath the avalanche of white powder that he has no chance of touching it, regardless of how much he touches her.

Opening the door wider, he shifts to one side and she walks past, stands in the middle of the renovated warehouse not bothering to look around. It's easier, later, when there are fewer details plaguing her memories.

"So, you're here for your photo spread for Peter?" The breath that slides across her neck is damp, a dirty wet rag and she constricts each muscle, refuses to let the shudder break free.

"Yeah."

He stalks around her, circles her like a tiger eyeing its prey, his stare stripping her bare, but he doesn't touch, not yet.

"And what are you hoping to get out of tonight?"

There it is - the question that she has to answer.

Inside there is a woman who stands strong, stands for what she believes in, fights for what is right. Inside there is a woman who looks the devil in the eye and back hands him, shows the steel that's in her bones, the iron that runs through her veins.

Inside her that woman weeps for what she has become, the unspoken depths she has fallen to.

That woman looks a lot like her mother.

Closing her eyes, Kate breathes in, sends a silent apology to the woman who she could be, to her mother for what she is, and straightening her shoulders, she does what she has to do, says what she has to say.

"I need the best images you can take."

"At any cost?"

"Of course."

* * *

Taking her hand, he pulls her across the workspace to the long sofa set in front of a blank green backdrop, and sitting down, he tugs, her body falling against his with the sharp jerk.

She shifts back, moves away from him, though not enough. The suffocating sensation of his body next to hers is quicksand that fills her nose and mouth, makes breathing near impossible, yet she perches on the edge of the seat, waits for the inevitable.

Buried at the back of what used to be her parents' cabin there was a cluster of bushes that had grown wild, dishevelled, unkempt, and long ago, she had crawled underneath them, the tangled branches a web above her head. She'd lain on her back, staring through the mess, the bright blue sky so far out of reach, except, for a moment, it would engulf her, descend and swallow her whole.

There was nothing but her dissolving, disappearing as she was absorbed into the glorious color.

The color she'd never seen since, not until she'd looked into Rick's eyes.

Vincent trails a finger along the skin of her arm, dipping under the strap that rests on her shoulder, and slipping it down, he exposes her left breast.

The air conditioner hums in the background, almost like the wind rustling through the grass, and the hairs on her arms rise.

He moves his fingers slowly across her bicep, his back bending and as he lowers his head, he puts his tongue against her skin, follows the path of his hand.

When she had lain beneath the sky, the breeze would be feather-like, barely there, and she would imagine floating above the world, drifting amid the clouds.

Slithering a palm underneath her breast, he lifts, his thumbnail slicing across the tip of her nipple, the sweat in his touch slime on her skin, and her eyes close, again.

Find the blue sky - vanish within it.

But the blue isn't the vast expanse of heaven above; it's Rick's eyes.

It was the way he'd looked at her, a soft smile curling his lips, before he'd placed his mouth on the skin of her abdomen, kissing her slowly.

The touch on her now is such a contrast to the care within Rick's, the firm pressure of his hand as he'd drifted across the battered flesh of her feet, removing her shoes, so very horrified at what had happened to her.

How horrified would he be now?

She stands, her head twisting side to side and looking around the room, she comes to.

What are you doing, Katie?

Her mother's voice cracks through the cocaine, pulls the branches aside, her smiling face glancing down through the gap, and a sob claws its way up her throat.

_I don't __know,__ Mom._

"What the hell, Kate?"

Vincent's harsh words cause her to turn, and looking down at him, half sprawled on the sofa, his face twisted with anger, Kate's mouth opens before closing again.

What is she doing?

* * *

Frozen in place, Kate's eyes lock with Vincent's, but she doesn't answer, couldn't even if she wanted to.

The face of her mother morphs back into Rick's, and Kate takes a step away.

The comparison to _him_, his hands, his touch, slashes further through the haze, through the white dust that's churning in her mind, and hell, if she is going to be paying the price for a set of photos, why in the world is she paying the asshole in front of her instead of the man she actually wants?

Pride does come before a fall, but she's fallen; the path of sweat from Vincent's hand is clinging to the skin of her breast, a nasty example of that cost.

She could have said yes to Rick, should have. But she'd turned him down because of the risk he represents to her closed off way of life. She doesn't need anyone to take care of her.

Except maybe she does.

Dragging her tank top back onto her shoulder, Kate takes another step backwards. Then another.

The gap between her and Vincent widens, his outraged shouts spurring her on as she spins, stalks across the space until she hits the front door and ripping it open, she exits.

Her body slumps into the nearest wall, the brick's rough surface scraping her shoulder, and she slides down.

What has she done?

"Are you okay?"

Looking up, her head nods of its own accord. The couple standing before her raise an eyebrow as one, and Kate offers a smile, attempts to convey that she's fine.

Of all the things she is, fine really isn't one of them.

Shrugging his shoulder, the man steers his other half away, the girl moving to his side, her hand slipping into his back pocket as his arm encircles her shoulder, and together they move off.

The stomach acid that's been churning all evening rises up through Kate's throat, and turning toward the wall, she heaves. If there were food in her stomach, she'd at least have something to vomit up, but as shudder after shudder races along her thin frame, nothing comes of it. There's nothing left inside.

Letting her head fall back, the dull thump of pain vibrates through her skull, tumbles down her neck, and she brings her knees up to her chest, her hands burying themselves deep in the pockets of her skirt.

Once again, the paper brushes her fingers.

She pulls the napkin out, smoothing the crushed mess of numbers against her naked thighs, and staring at his phone number, she inhales freely.

For the first time in a long time, she'd stood up for herself, had made a choice and walked away, and while - if she goes through with this - there will still be a price to pay Rick, the shroud she lugs around each day slips a little, the weight not so heavy.

Standing up, she fixes the rumpled material of her outfit, smoothes a hand across her hair. The ponytail she'd thrown it into is hardly flattering, and tugging at the tie, she frees the unruly curls, allowing them to spill across her shoulders.

Each step along the sidewalk stretches her stride, her eyes scanning the street for a payphone. It takes her half a block - it's moments like this that spending her money on a cell seems worth it - but one presents itself eventually.

Holding Rick's number between her fingers, she inhales, and holding her breath, she gathers the courage needed to call him.

The simple task of pressing buttons on a phone overwhelms her system, her eyes closing, another deep breath forcing her lungs to expand.

For the love of god, Kate, just press the buttons.

Her fingers move rapidly, as if in a race with her mind, and she brings the handset to her ear, the ring tone occurring before she's ready for it. Wiping the back of her hand across her forehead, she wipes the moisture that is beading on her skin, the palm of her free hand pressing against her skirt; she waits, this time in nervous anticipation.

"Hey, you've reached Rick Castle, how can I help you tonight?"

Laughter simmers, his cheesy greeting wiping her worries away, and she grins in spite of the fact that he can't see her.

"Rick. Hi. It's Kate. I-"

"Kate." Her name rushes through the phone, the warmth in his tone washing her skin clean, and her mouth widens, her teeth flashing the empty street.

"Yeah. That's me."

"You're calling? I didn't-"

Damn it. She'd rejected his offer, had pretty much told him to take it and shove it where the sun doesn't shine and now she's screwed. She has no chance of going back to Vincent without some serious groveling, and no chance of Rick's help.

And, shit.

Tears burn, her vision going hazy as they pool on the bottom of her eyelids and her head lists into the glass of the phone booth.

What was she thinking?

"Kate?"

Placing the handset against her shoulder, she sucks in a lung full of air, attempts to level the shake that is coursing through her body, before she brings the phone back up to her ear.

"Yeah, Rick."

"When can you get here for your photo shoot, picture thing?"

The back of her hand wipes across each eye, disturbs the tears, smearing them along her skin, a path of regret erased with his question.

"Are you sure it's okay? I can't imagine that you have a photographer on speed dial."

"Hey. Don't worry about it. I know a guy who owes me a favor."

She bites down hard on her lip as he mentions the word favor, reality crashing down on the cocoon that was created with the tenderness of his voice, and as it cracks open, she shifts from foot to foot, the material of her tank top brushing her chest.

Far better to owe Rick than to owe Vincent.

Granted it would be far better to owe no one…

Swallowing the lump that's lodged in her throat, she nods, her body and mind agreeing.

"I can be on my way now."

He rattles off his address, her lips moving as she silently repeats Broome Street over and over, lest she forget, and he encourages her to repeat it back to him. Apparently, she's not the only one worried about that possibility.

"I'll see you soon, Kate."

"Bye, Rick."

Placing the handset back onto the payphone, she slumps against the glass, the energy that was zipping through her body after she'd inhaled more lines than usual has dissolved as the night spun in a thousand different directions. But, pushing her hand against the glass of the phone booth, she propels herself off and out, stepping onto the sidewalk.

She's just has to keep moving forward.

Her eyes scan the area, the warehouse district so far removed from the hustle and bustle of the city, that her movements halt as she takes a second to take it all in, attempts to steady the beat of her heart as it picks up pace at what comes next.

She has to find a cab and make her way to Rick's place.

* * *

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Can not say it enough, but thank you so much for all the support xoxo Your words are such a bright spot xoxo

.

Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their beta and hand holding especially with this chapter xoxo

.

Thank you for reading xoxo


	8. Payment Due

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**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Eight – Payment due

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Arching her neck, Kate's head tilts back as she glances upward at the building on the corner of Broome and Crosby. Money may as well be fluttering from the skyline and her hand lowers to the hem of her skirt, fingers tugging the material down a little further.

She couldn't be more out of place if she tried.

But there are no other options. There's nothing left besides this or return home - without a photo spread - and stepping up to the doorman, she attempts to hold her shoulders in a straight line, attempts to keep her head high, attempts to ignore the voice telling her to flee.

"Mr. Castle is expecting you, Miss Beckett." He pulls the glass door open, his eyes never leaving hers as his hand lifts to indicate the elevators set into the wall. "The top floor. Apartment one."

Her mumbled reply of thanks is lost in the ether and any confidence she has is faked as she manages to hold it all together.

Just.

The elevator doors slide open the second she presses the button and making her way inside, the sound of her slow, steady breaths fill the silence as she forces the butterflies inside her stomach to exit.

She's twenty years old, not ten and this is hardly meeting Rick underneath the bleachers for their first kiss.

Cramming her hands into her pockets, her teeth trap her bottom lip with a little too much intensity, and she compresses the tender flesh, seeks the pain that pierces.

Pain she can deal with. It's the nervousness that's unexpected, a bitter taste on her tongue.

Considering all that's she's been through tonight - walking out of the lion's den - this should be easy.

Rick and the emotions he stirs are anything but easy, though.

Arriving, the elevator opens and inching her way into the corridor, she makes her way to the large door marked with a one. It doesn't surprise her that he lives in the first apartment; it suits the flashes of arrogance that she'd seen, the cocky grin that had appeared all too readily.

Pushing the memories of their meeting to the far corner of her mind, lest she begin to recall more than his grin, her hand lifts, hovering before the wooden surface, prepared to knock.

Knock. Just knock.

Except nothing happens.

Closing her eyes, her internal pep talk goes nowhere, her hand frozen, her body stuck.

A swish of air unexpectedly rushes past, a draft created as the door moves inward, and her eyelids pop open. Rick stands before her, casual in his jeans and a flannel button up, a flop of hair falling onto his forehead and with the hand that's suspended high, she drifts it through the space between them, brushing it back into place.

Traitorous hand.

"Kate. Hi. Come in."

Smiling, he doesn't react to her action, thankfully doesn't question her move which is far too familiar for what they are, simply steps backward to usher her inside, and she takes all of three paces before stopping. His apartment - his loft - is massive, the open area of the living space so very unexpected; the high circular glass ceiling, the open shelves of books forming the only internal wall, the stairs leading to the second floor.

Dinner's going in the kitchen, a dining table sits off to one side, well-worn couches form a U in the main area, and while there's a pool table in the far corner… It hits her-

This is a home.

This is _his_ home.

* * *

"Do you live here by yourself?" Spinning on the spot, Kate turns toward Rick, his head nodding in reply.

"Uh. Yes. Why?"

"I just…" Her shoulders lift. "It's not the bachelor pad I imagined."

"Oh. Right. I." Looking up the staircase, a cloud flickers across his face before he focuses on her again, his smile a tight line. "It's a long story."

Nodding her head - she's all too familiar with that - she lets it go. Whatever his story, it's not why she's here.

"Look, about tonight. I hope I haven't put you in an awkward position-"

Footsteps on the stairs interrupt, the thunder of their haste echoing through the living area, and her eyes take in the white snowy beard, the wide girth tugging at his buttoned jacket, the camera dangling from his neck.

"You must be, Kate." Jumping down, he skips over the last three steps and her lips curl upward as he holds out his hand. "I'm Bradley."

Gripping his fingers, her smile widens under his firm touch. It's oddly like shaking hands with Santa, and the tension that was holding her shoulders tight uncoils.

"Hi, and yes, I'm Kate."

Teeth flash through his beard, his head nodding, and taking ahold of the camera, he waves it slightly.

"Well, I'm ready when you are."

"Do you need to change?" The sensation of Rick's gaze on her as he inspects the outfit she'd thrown on before leaving to meet Vincent has her head sinking down, along with her heart and self-esteem.

The reason she'd put on this tank top and skirt was because she was supposed to be facing a very different photographer tonight; these clothes were destined for the trash once she had trudged back to her apartment.

How quickly one little choice - her standing up and leaving Vincent's studio before he could go further - changed an entire night.

"Oh, Rick." Bradley's chuckle booms over them, "The photo spreads aren't about the clothes but the model. It's all about the body, the face, and that certain x factor."

"Well, Kate is talented." Rick's mouth forms a perfect O, his words clearly exiting before his brain had a chance to assess their content, and her eyebrow lifts, her stare meeting his.

"I just mean, that those qualities - good qualities - are something you have. You have talent at modeling." His hand rakes through his hair, the strands standing adorably, and squeezing her lips together, she smothers the grin that's begging for release.

Keep digging, Ricky.

"I'm just gonna go back to cooking dinner." Rick points a finger toward the kitchen. "Feel free to use whatever you need."

Dipping her head forward, the curtain of loose curls hides her smile - could he put his foot in his mouth any more? - and peeking through the strands, she watches as he walks away, his head shaking.

"Do you have anything in mind for where you want the shots taken?" Bradley's hand spans the loft, and her fingers tuck her hair behind her ears, her shoulders shrugging in reply.

She's paid to stand and smile, not much more than that.

"Well the lighting is great near the pool table, so I'll start there then."

Following Bradley's direction, she strides over. Running her fingers across the surface of the soft green velvet, she pauses, the skin on her forehead pulling tight as her eyebrows draw together. Like everything else inside Rick's loft it says money, but it doesn't scream it.

Even she's played on more elaborate tables than this.

Hitching her rear onto the edge, she wiggles back, her fingers gripping the rim as she leans forward. Each breath is now a measured intake of air, her body becoming motionless, her face wiped of all expression.

This, this is what she'd signed up to be a model for. The moment when there is nothing, no thoughts, no past, no future, just a void where she is still, required to simply be.

Bradley's camera clicks away, and she angles her head and body every other minute, a familiar routine that was simple to learn - different ways to highlight the arch of her cheekbones, the color in her eyes.

A pot clatters against the counter and her head jerks toward the sound, Rick's face contorting in guilt. His mouth moves comically, the silent "sorry" drawing his lips downward, and she smiles in turn, her head angling as she takes him in.

He moves around the kitchen easily, hands twisting the salt and pepper shakers expertly as he seasons the dish, his large frame dancing from bench to bench so very much at home and it adds another layer to the man that he is. Gripping a teaspoon delicately, he dips it into the pot, and, bringing it to his mouth, he tastes his creation. His jaw drops, a hand waving the steam and heat away, his tongue hanging out, and laughter catches in her throat.

Underneath the playboy he seems to be all boy and the smile on her face deepens, the motion pushing her cheeks high until it feels as if they will shatter from the joy. His gaze catches hers, his melodramatic movements coming to a halt, and her heart shudders, the action of it stirring to life an electrical pulse.

No, Kate.

Don't.

She won't feel, won't allow those memories in. She doesn't need to miss being around others, miss good food, miss sitting around a table laughing. She doesn't need to wish back her younger self. She can push the memories of mealtime with her parents aside. Anecdotes about something funny that happened at school or their interesting cases are not things she needs to think about. Because thinking about that makes her think about what's become of her. Her parents would be shocked to see how much she's wasted away in the last year, how little she eats thanks to the substance suppressing her ability to feel hunger, feel anything.

Closing her eyes, her head bends forward, the grip on the pool table pushing all the blood from her fingers, and with an ability formed through months of practice, she wipes her mind empty.

When her eyes open, she focuses on the front door, focuses on the exit, focuses again on not feeling anything at all.

* * *

"So all the shots I've taken are on Rick's computer, and I'm sure if you ask nicely he'll burn them onto a disc for you." Bradley winks, his bushy eyebrow wiggling, and Kate smiles, her head nodding.

"Thank you. Really."

"It was my pleasure." Pulling out the cord he'd attached to the computer, Bradley winds it around his hand before unplugging it from his camera. "Have a look, then make a note of the number underneath the image. It will make it easier for you to transfer those specific ones to the CD later. They're great pictures, just wish I could post process them."

"Yeah, thanks, but they want them raw." Kate shrugs, if it was up to her she would have varied her outfits. It's not what they want though, and those high in the ivory tower receive what they want - without question.

Her head dips again and moving closer to the screen, she slides into the desk chair. It was surreal to step into Rick's office, to see the thousands of books that form two of the walls, the gaps between them that show glimpses of his bedroom.

Not that she'd looked. There's no interest there.

Scrolling through image after image, they all appear the same to her. Bradley's a good photographer and even unprocessed, these shots are some of the best she's seen. But her expression is lacking. A vacant face, a vacant stare, and a sigh slips past her lips. She's going to have to write some numbers down, even if she can't see how she's going to stand out amid all the other girls.

"Take care, Kate." Raising her head, she smiles again at Bradley as he heaves the camera bag onto his shoulder, a hand waving in farewell and she mimics his actions. Of all the photo sessions she's experienced, that was the most enjoyable by a long shot.

"Thanks again, Bradley." Her gaze returns to all his hard work, her finger clicking the mouse repeatedly, yet nothing jumps out, until…

There's a section of ten images, one after the other, and her breath sticks, each beat of her heart impossibly loud in her ears.

She's looking away from the camera, eyes focused on something to the right, but a light to her features slices through the shroud that usually keeps her indifferent. Her lips are turned into the softest of smiles, joy captured in an instant, the green in her eyes dancing with it.

She looks happy.

Maybe for a second she was.

Closing her eyes, she attempts to recall what was happening as she sat on the pool table, what was so different from all of the other moments that Bradley captured, and the realization crashes over her.

Rick.

Rick had been cooking dinner and she'd been laughing as he'd burned his tongue.

She _was_ happy.

Jumping out of the chair, it flies backward, and she strides across the office. She has to show him, show Rick the difference he'd made, and making her way through the door way, she can feel the same smile pushing her cheeks high.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, Bradley." Rick claps a hand to the older man's back, a grin turning his own lips up as the two of them stand before the open front door.

"As I said to Kate, it was my pleasure, and having you owe me a favor is worth its weight in gold." Bradley closes his fingers, a fist bumping into Rick's shoulder, and Kate's feet come to a stop.

What?

"Yeah. Yeah. You know who to call when you need it." Rick's mouth forms a narrow line, his back straightening as he stares down at Bradley. "And anyway, it'll be worth it."

Bradley's laugh rumbles, his chest heaving as it rolls through his body and Kate's fingers curl.

How could she have forgotten - nothing ever comes without a price.

"I'm sure it will be." Turning, Bradley disappears into the corridor, and Rick moves forward, closing the door, his body leaning against it for a second. A smile slowly inches its way back onto his face, fingers sliding through his hair, and the delight that was surging within her dies instantly.

Right. It's time to pay Rick what she owes.

It's time to pay with the only currency she has.

* * *

Dropping his jaw, Rick's eyes widen, his gaze plummeting before jerking back up to her face. He lingers for a moment, and her weight shifts from foot to foot, her teeth latching onto the inside of her cheek, yet as she sways, he glances down again, his mouth closing with a snap.

A flush of heat travels up her neck, her skin reddening under his shocked stare, and she holds herself still. This was always going to be the cost of running from her first photo shoot, the price of calling Rick.

"Kate?"

"Yes?"

"What happened to your clothes?"

* * *

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Thank you again, your reviews and your sweetness are truly appreciated xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for putting up with me and for their hard work xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	9. The cost of

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**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Nine – The cost of…

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

"What happened to your clothes?"

Kate lists from foot to foot as the cool air circulating around Rick's loft drifts across her skin, raising the hairs along her arms and tightening her nipples, but she doesn't move even with the surprise in his voice.

"I... took them off."

His gaze travels down again, his eyes slowly losing all color as his pupils dilate and she lifts both hands, waving them across her naked body. Somehow this has become 'Wheel of Fortune' and he doesn't quite seem to realize he's won the prize.

Granted this is less about being a prize and more about payment due, but still...

"Why?"

"Why what, Rick?"

His head shakes, hair flopping forward and he belatedly slaps a hand over his eyes. The sight of him, posed as if in a game of hide and seek, would be hilarious in any other situation, but she's standing here offering herself as payment for his photographer and he appears to be playing dumb. Surely he's not going to make her spell it out for him?

"Why are you naked?"

Damn him.

"Don't you want this? Want me?"

His hand drops as well as his jaw, the disbelief pulling the skin on his face into smooth plains and her fingers curl, self-doubt flaring.

It's bad enough that this is all she can offer, but to be turned down...

"Of course I want you. But, Kate-"

"Then why-"

"Why would you think I don't-"

"Well this is the only way I can pay you. I owe-"

"Kate!" The constant interruptions come to a halt, his voice raising. "You are _not _a prostitute. And you owe me _nothing_."

Her lips close with a snap, confusion and shame forcing the blood to rush from her face, no doubt leaving her skin colorless. She'd heard him speak to Bradley, heard him state that his payment would be worth it, so... What's gone wrong?

"I don't understand."

"Kate, could you please put some clothes on and then-"

Rick's shoulders lift, and her arms cross awkwardly over her chest, her stare flickering across the room to his office - and her clothes - then back to him. She should go get dressed, take her skinny and apparently rejected ass back to her apartment before this horrible situation spirals anymore out of her control.

"Kate, go and get dressed so we can talk, please."

* * *

Her hand lifts, a thumb finding its way between her teeth, and she gnaws on the poor nail bed, her feet unable to move forward and out of Rick's office now that she's dressed.

Head high, back straight, exit swiftly.

So much easier said than done.

Dropping her hand, she shoves both fists into the pockets of her skirt, contracting her shoulders, and, stepping out of the room, she strides toward his front door.

"Kate. Stop, please."

The chink in her armor - the one he's created - allows his words in, and her footsteps falter, her nails embedding themselves deeper into her palms.

Keep moving, Kate.

"Is there any chance you'd join me for dinner?"

Shit.

Angling her head, she comes to a complete stop, and as she observes him in the kitchen, _not_ watching her, he spoons the pasta into two bowls. The smell has been making her mouth water, each hour adding another layer of want until she's sure that her insides are going to start consuming themselves in protest.

"I don't eat."

His soft snort carries across the living area, his head shaking, and raising his stare inch by inch, he regards her without a word - she's pretty sure that he's just called her on her bullshit.

Shrugging her shoulders - because, yes, okay she eats _occasionally_, tiny portions and a lot of pills, which make up for what her body's missing - she holds his eye contact. It's a silent battle that she has no chance of winning though; his head is tilted to the side, eyes pleading with her as he stands there forlorn behind the counter.

"If it makes us even you could consider this your thanks to me."

Squeezing her lips tight - she will not smile at his ploy - she nods the smallest of yeses and if she were keeping a tally it would be a point for him. And really, her night could be a hell of a lot worse.

"I think fucking you might be easier."

His body goes stiff, the spoon in his hand hovering in the air and her eyes close at the stupidity that was her joke.

"Kate, that's not-"

"I'm sorry."

There's no reply from him, and the silence presses her to the ground, her soul whimpering at how far she's screwed up. It's the story of her life and peeking through her lashes, she takes a risk, sees how far she has destroyed him. Them.

He hasn't moved, except for his hand. All ten of his fingers are now gripping the edge of the counter, and traveling higher she glances at his face, attempts to decipher the lines of his expression.

He seems more disappointed than upset, and like the little lost girl she so frequently is, she has no idea how to make what she was prepared to do okay. Nothing about her, or her life, is a joke and she was stupid to even attempt to make light about such a thing.

Especially with him, with the outrage he'd displayed when he'd originally heard of her dilemma, and maybe there lies the answer to their - her - problem.

"Could we start again? Try to forget all the ways that I'm messed up?"

It's the only olive branch she can think of, the only way to make it right, yet nothing changes, his body a statue.

So much for starting again.

"Kate." Cracks in his stony face show, his mouth pulling wide as he grins. "I'd like that a lot."

* * *

The concept of sitting next to Rick, exchanging small talk as she eats more calories in this sitting than she has in the last three days, is releasing emotions that should be locked in their steel chest, and while starting again was her idea, it may be the most dangerous one she's had yet.

From the minute she'd met him, she'd known he'd be trouble.

"It's just food, Kate."

Just food, just a meal together, just some friendly chit chat, just a night doing everything that she hasn't done for so very long, and she might not have been joking when she'd said it would be easier to just fuck him, that at least is something she can do decently.

So far all she's done tonight is screw up.

Kate's hand shakes as she holds the fork and spoon he hands her. The smell is once again overwhelming, her tongue tracing the outline of her lips over and over in anticipation, but her stomach is a ball of barbed wire, slashing the inside of her at what she's about to do.

Picking up the bowl, she walks toward the table, each step a controlled movement, each breath a measured action, and, as she slides into the dining chair across from him, her hand no longer trembles.

Just like riding a bike.

"So…" Rick's gaze searches the room, flickers from object to object before focusing on her. "Do you like to read?"

Both of her eyebrows lift - doesn't he recall their first exchange? - and, placing a mouthful of food into her mouth, she shrugs a shoulder. It's one way to avoid small talk.

The explosion on her tongue, the flavors and texture of the tagliatelle and vegetables hitting taste buds that she'd long ago deprived, causes a moan to escape her closed lips, and her head drops.

Well that's a little embarrassing.

"I'm guessing pasta is your favorite food?" His cocky grin stretches across his face and swallowing, she shakes her head.

"No, it's Chinese actually."

"Oh." His nose scrunches endearingly, clearly perplexed over his ability, or lack thereof, for guessing something about her, and taking pity, she smiles in return.

"Pasta is a close second. Although it has to be prepared well."

Nodding in agreement, his features become alight, the blue in his eyes sparkling, and it burns the last of her anxiety away.

"Was that a compliment about my cooking, Miss Beckett?"

She pushes another spoonful of artichoke pieces into her mouth, and pointing with her finger, she indicates that she can't talk. He's not getting his ego stroked by her, regardless of how much her fingers itch to stroke something else.

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

Rolling her eyes, she brings the glass of water to her lips, and, playing for more time, she watches as he shovels his own serving into his mouth.

He is right, though. This is amazing.

"Who taught you how to cook?"

The question is out before any real thought goes into it, because _really_ she has no desire to hear about how he learned how to cook, about _anything_ to do with his past. Not at all…

"I-" His spoon clutters against the bowl, rests precariously on the edge before his hand snatches it up again. "I taught myself."

His head stays low, eyes firmly stuck on the long strands of tagliatelle, and the cloud that leaves his face in shadows, expands across the table until she shivers with the cold.

"Long story, Rick?"

Closing her eyes, she squeezes her eyelids tight. Could she, just once, not completely fuck up so much?

"I'm sorry. I should go. I can't do this." She pushes back on her chair, her eyes opening to focus on her lap. She has to get out of here before she manages to say something else that drags back the look of desolation that had obscured his features.

But he stands, both hands out signaling for her to stop, and pausing, awkwardly, wedged between rising and sitting, she locks her stare with his.

"Don't. Don't go."

Falling back into her seat, she drops her hands into her lap, toys with the hem of her skirt as he sits back down onto his own chair.

"A long time has passed, it was years ago." Slumping forward, his elbows rest on the table, his palms catching his head as he collapses. "I'm usually much better at ignoring it than this."

Her hand reaches across the table, shifts the untouched wine glass from between them, and with the tips of her fingers, she brushes his forearm. Curling her hand underneath where his shirt has been rolled up, she rests her fingers, skin against skin.

"Some days, regardless of how deep we bury the past, it rises like zombies to attack us when we least expect."

"You believe in zombies?" His head lifts, eyebrows raised, and if she didn't know better she'd swear that was hope lining his face.

"Um. No. I was just trying to be descriptive." Smothering her grin, she pokes a finger against his forearm. "I thought as an author, you'd appreciate the imagery."

Grinning, his lips part, his teeth flashing before his expression slips back, becomes his quiet assessing stare.

"That's very sweet of you."

"Well, don't let it get round." Drawing her hand back, a sigh pushes against her chest at the lack of contact, and, closing her fingers into a fist, she tucks it between her knees, holds it in place.

This night needs to get back on track, needs to go back to small talk and putting food into her mouth, one spoonful at a time.

"These things that are buried, that are ignored, do you think that-" His head angles, eyes staring past her unfocused. "That it's better that way? Or that maybe a burden shared would be a burden halved?"

Trapping her bottom lip between her teeth, she bites down on her answer.

Whom is she suppose to share her burden with?

"Maybe."

She picks up her spoon, pushes the olives through the sauce, making nice little lines on the side of her plate as the silence between them becomes deafening.

"I want to." His whisper slices through the nothing, slices across her, but some things aren't meant to be talked about, and maybe that's half the issue, half her issue. She never talks about it, never brings voice to what occurred months after her nineteenth birthday as if she can thus affect reality.

As if it didn't happen.

"I know, Rick."

His chair falls away, his body shoving it aside as he stands to stalk around the table, and, interlocking his fingers with hers, he tugs her up.

And she goes willingly.

Leading her toward the staircase, he doesn't look back in her direction, and as they climb one step at a time, she purses her lips together, holds onto the questions that are demanding their release.

Where in the world is he taking her?

The second floor is just as spacious as the first, colors blend beautifully making it appear light, open, but as they come to a closed door, all thoughts of décor scurry from her mind.

"You can't ever tell anyone. The press, they'd…" His eyes watch their hands, and her own gaze drops, takes in how his fingers stretch around her smaller ones.

What could he possibly have hidden up here?

Nodding, words far too much for her, she pushes her chin high, attempts to remain strong under the crushing worry that is swirling like a tornado around her.

He opens the door, and she follows him into the room, her head twisting in every direction, unable to work out where to look. The walls are white, blank, the room empty except for three pieces of furniture, but they only tighten the knot that's formed in her stomach.

What happened?

Letting go of her hand, he grasps the edge of the crib, peering in. There's nothing but a bare, plastic covered mattress lying inside and her fingers join his as she attempts to see what he sees.

"Did you ever think, Kate that your life was supposed to be very different? And yet, somehow it all was taken from you. That you lost it all."

Her eyes close. She doesn't think that. She knows it.

* * *

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Thank you, giving big squeeze-y hugs for all of your support xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their pompoms in writing and in life xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	10. Hidden truth

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**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Ten – Hidden truth

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

"Did you ever think, Kate, that your life was supposed to be very different? And yet, somehow it was all taken from you. That you lost it all."

Her eyes close. She doesn't think that. She knows it.

There are so many moments throughout each day, throughout each night when the what ifs of life crawl under her skin, eat her alive. If her father hadn't stumbled in front of the cab, if her mother had of been with them like she was supposed to… If there was just one person last year that could have thrown her a lifeline, save her from this destiny.

But there wasn't and now, now it's far too late for wishful thinking. Her life is what it is.

"How was your life supposed to be different, Rick?"

Elevating both shoulders, he shrugs, appears almost reluctant. It's as if it took all his courage to get her up here, to show her the baby furniture, but the actual explanation of its origins are too much to verbalize.

They're really not that different after all.

Brushing her knuckles across the back of his and getting no reaction, she tries again, this time drifting around his hand until their palms face each other. She slides her fingers in between each of his, curls them up so she can squeeze tight, remind him that she's here.

"I was supposed to be a dad." His fingers contract, squeezing her back, but then so does the rest of his body, the tension rolling off him. "I was young, enjoying life a little too much, and…"

His head angles toward her, his gaze connecting with hers, and she lifts an eyebrow. He _was_ young?

"Okay. I was _younger_, and these days going from party to party is something I enjoy a hell of a lot less. Although, even then I guess I was reeling from a breakup that broke my heart, a first love that ended up with me searching the bottom of a bottle for something."

"Did you find it?"

He offers a slight upward tug of his lips even though his head shakes, indicates no, and yeah, she didn't think that was possible either.

"At some point I hooked up with an actress, and for a couple of months we had fun. And then one day Meredith called me in tears."

Letting go of her fingers, he returns to the crib, holding onto it as if it's the only thing keeping him afloat, a desperate man clinging to the last life preserver.

Maybe he is?

"I went to her right away, had taken three whole steps into her place before she told me what had happened. In her words, where it had all gone wrong."

Kate doesn't require her unfinished law degree to work out what had gone wrong for the two of them.

"She was pregnant."

It makes sense now, why he wouldn't fuck her without protection on their first meeting. Why he'd dusted his hand low on her stomach as he - in a roundabout way - confided that Meredith had destroyed something that was wanted. Something that he had wanted.

A chance at a different life.

"Yeah. And hell, I don't think I'd ever been so scared in all my life. I was still a child myself, still living a life that was well and truly in the fast lane. I mean, how was I supposed to be a father?"

Slumping his shoulders, his body lists forward but his arms prevent him from falling too far, his grip on the baby's crib the only thing appearing to keep him upright.

"I think you'd be a great dad."

Her whispered words exit and her eyes close. Damn it, what a way to twist the knife further into his already bleeding heart.

"Thanks." Rick's reply is just as quiet and she peers through her lashes, watches his face.

"It took about ten minutes after she'd broken the news for me to realize something very important."

Letting go of the crib, he turns, rests his rear against the railing as his arms lift, crossing over his chest, and her heart thunders loud in her ears over what he's about to reveal.

"I realized that I wanted this baby. And the rest - the rest was just details."

A sigh fills the room, his body almost relaxing as he stares across it, and her gaze follows his. Not that she can see the moment, she lacks the ability to conjure up the memory, but she can picture him clearly. The smile that would have stretched across his face, the glow that would have radiated at the thought of all the possibilities that come with being a parent.

He really would be amazing.

"What did you do next?"

"I got down on one knee and proposed. Promised her, and the baby, the world. Swore that she would never want for anything, that I'd be there for the both of them. That we'd be a family."

Pushing off, he trudges across the room, draws the curtains aside to peer into the night sky, and the silhouette that he creates screams of the destroyed man he masks so well.

Two peas that they are, in one very broken pod.

"Meredith didn't want to get married?" She seeks the details, needs the rest of the story. He's enthralled her, and any and all prior thoughts of not wanting to know more about him have been burned by her curiosity.

"Oh, no. She said yes. And the next day, while out ring shopping, I stumbled upon this loft." Turning to look over his shoulder, he smiles, the memory of that day, the joy, shines like the brightest star of all. "I knew, the moment I saw it, I knew that it was the perfect family home. That it was fate. Magic."

He looks back toward the window, and her head drops. She disagrees. Fate. No. Sometimes, someone high above just has a damn good laugh at your expense.

"It took all I had. My savings. The investments that I'd made with the first books. But I had enough to make a down payment, had enough to secure a loan. By that afternoon it was mine. Ours."

His voice lowers as he explains and her feet move of their own accord, edging closer, reducing the gap between them until he's close enough to touch.

Not that she does.

"I was so excited as I waited for everything to be finalized, but I managed to keep it a secret, keep the surprise to myself, even if I had to stay away from Meredith for a bit until everything was ready. I barely saw her, and when I did, I was in my own haze. I wasn't... paying attention. At the time it was the longest three weeks of my life, even with the lawyers working all day on my behalf."

Rick's head angles forward until the glass prevents him from moving anymore. Each puff of air he exhales creates a halo of condensation on the window before it disappears. Fades away.

"The funny thing is I remember it all like it was yesterday, slightly ironic because for the life of me, I generally can't remember what happened yesterday." The chuckle that exits is anything but funny and her lips squeeze together lest she say as much.

"I was ten feet tall walking away with the keys in my pocket. Knew that everything had fallen into place for a reason. A good reason. And as I headed toward Meredith's I passed a baby store. That's fate."

Given where she's standing, her head shakes vehemently even if he can't see it. How does he call this fate?

"Inside I saw the matching set of furniture. The crib, the change table, and the dresser. It was perfect, sitting there on display and I bought it on the spot. Ordered the set and organized for delivery."

Stretching a hand to his left, he ghosts a finger across the wooden surface of the dresser, a clear line forming amid the dust.

"When I got to Meredith's I convinced her to come with me, even managed to do a big reveal, a hand over her eyes as I opened the front door. I was so damn elated."

She swallows the "What happened next?" as Rick goes quiet, pushes down her own desire for the story, she already knows what happened. Except her breaths become short rasps, the thump inside her ears increasing - how did it happen next?

"Meredith was upset. Went on about not needing a place in New York. LA was where she needed to be. Earlier in the week she'd accepted a part that she'd auditioned for months ago. And I remember being so utterly devastated. I thought we were going to be a family under this roof." He spins on the spot and she steps back at his actions, takes another one under the hopelessness that bleeds from his features.

"She'd had an abortion. The TV role needed her from August through to April and the baby was due in October." His words crack by the end and her mouth opens, yet nothing comes out.

What is there to say?

"I would've stayed home. I could have been a dad and an author. Gone to parks in the early days. Done homework in the afternoons as time went on. We could've had movie nights and ice cream sundaes as big as your head."

His mouth shifts into a smile, his eyes bright as they meets hers before it all slips away and she has no doubt that his declaration is true. He would have been amazing.

* * *

Walking to where she stands, he lifts a thumb, drifts it across the arch of her cheekbone and while there are a million things she should say to him, a million ways to express how she understands the hole that exists inside of him because of the hole that exists inside her own chest, nothing comes out.

She has no words.

Her lips turn upward as she forces them into a smile, hopefully something that is reassuring, and he mimics her actions before leaning toward her, his mouth brushing the skin on her forehead.

"So, that's my story… I…" His head drops, and as her gaze searches for the rest of the sentence in the lines of his face, she reads nothing but blank pages, and after all that he has shown her, the fact that he's hiding from her now hurts more than it should.

Her fingers begin to tremble, her skin rippling, it's hurting more than it should because the reason she doesn't hurt at all dissolved hours ago.

For a little while she'd forgotten about it.

"Thank you, Kate, for having dinner with me." Again he smiles, but it doesn't alter his face, there's no light in his eyes, and with another soft kiss against her forehead, he turns, walks from the room that never saw his baby.

What does she do now?

The question is moot though, she has no choice. She's going to walk down the stairs, grab the disc with her photos and walk out the front door. She's going to walk away without a backward glance, without seeing that shattered look in his eyes, without feeling anything, because what he revealed, the story that has her falling to pieces on the inside, doesn't change who she is.

It doesn't change all the ways that she can't let him in. All the ways that his touch brings her to life. All the ways his smile inspires one of her own. All the ways that he is trouble for her heart.

Closing the door behind her, she silently takes each step down the stairs, tiptoes across the living area, making it to the door of his office before reality crashes down on her.

He sits in his desk chair, half turned away, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, a glass apparently overrated, and for all that she should be heading back to her apartment - her own body is beginning to scream for its oblivion - the sight of him turning to his crutch leaves her swallowing hard.

Is this what she looks like, eyes glazed over as she waits for the black abyss to take it all away?

Take her away.

Closing the gap between them, she reaches for the bottle, pulls it free of his grip. He doesn't resist, the whiskey coming freely to her chest and she cradles it between her breasts, her unblinking stare steady on his face.

She's standing with her back to all the things she was going to do, all the ways she can play it safe, but as he lifts his vacant eyes, his body unmoving in the chair, she faces a different option.

What exactly would she be running from?

The bottle thumps loudly as she releases it onto the desk's surface, her eyes fixed on his, and with her free hands, she grasps the material at his shoulders, grips tight as she lifts a knee, resting it precariously on the edge of his chair.

Frozen in place, he doesn't react, and, taking this as a sign of acceptance, she leans forward, her fingers pushing down on the broad expanse of his shoulders as she elevates herself high off the ground, both knees now bearing her weight.

She can't give him her words, the truth of her past, the jagged edges of those wounds are far too raw, but this, this she can give him.

His head tilts back, maintains their unwavering stare, his fingers sliding behind her knee, and as the warmth of his skin inches higher and higher, each intake of air becomes so much harder for her to manage.

She ghosts her mouth across his, barely a touch but as her head edges away, he pushes himself forward into her, his lips hard against her own and she opens wide, her teeth clashing against his as her tongue seeks access.

His fingers knead the flesh of her rear, a shudder rippling across her skin and with a sharp tug of her silk panties, he has her hips jerking, chasing the sensation.

The material pulls tighter between her thighs, but its not enough, not even close to what she is aching for, nowhere near satisfying. It's not him.

Fuck, she wants him.

Dropping her hands, her fingers slide down his shirt, over each button, until she reaches the top of his jeans, reaches him. The low muscles of her abdomen contract, her thighs rocking as her mouth greedily moves against his.

She wants him now. Inside.

Her lips close, her neck arching back, and while his head follows hers, she remains determined. She's not having a repeat of their last time, regardless of how glorious it was.

"You have protection here?"

With knowledge comes understanding and the experience that he'd lived through won't be repeated by her.

"Yeah."

Standing, he draws her close to his chest, her legs entwining around his hips, and, placing her mouth against his neck, she scatters kiss after kiss on all that she has access to, her heart pounding fast in her ears.

She's perched on the edge of another abyss, toes curling over the rim, but as her eyes close, she throws her arms wide, welcomes the rush against her skin as she steps off her own self-imposed cliff, breaks all of her own rules.

And falls. Hard.

* * *

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As we reach the half way mark I want to thank you all for the amazing support and to pass on all the cuddles especially for those hearts that were broken xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for all that you do for me xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	11. That dress

**.**

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Eleven – That dress

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Rolling over, Kate's head thumps into a hard, flat surface. Her hand reaches for the tender spot below her hairline before she brushes her fingers along the offending item, her eyes snapping open.

The room, draped in shadows, makes seeing a near impossible task, and the darkness confuses her already foggy brain.

She's in her apartment; the streetlight confirms the shadows as her belongings, but for the life of her, she can't work out how she came to be here, or even what day it is.

What has happened?

Sitting upright and swinging her legs off the side of the fold out mattress, she runs her fingers through her hair, her eyes drifting shut under the pull of sleep. It would be all too easy just to lie back down, concede defeat.

A buzzing noise erupts, her eyes jerking open, her body contracting at the unexpected sound, at the glow that's accompanying it from the table next to her bed, and her hand reaches for it, the room going dark again as her fingers cover the small screen.

Jabbing blindly at the buttons - she has a hard enough time operating this thing when she's alert - one push appears to be successful, blessed quiet once again occurring.

"Yeah?"

"Good evening to you, too."

Pulling the cell away from her ear, she studies it for a moment, the screen confirming her suspicions.

"Rick?"

"Ye-_s_." The sound of him drawing the last syllable out turns her lips upwards. He's right, who else would be calling her.

"What time is it?"

"Uhh. It's seven. Are you okay, Kate?"

Twisting her head around, a yawn stretches her mouth wide, her shoulders shrugging even if he can't see her.

"I think I fell asleep."

"_Oh_. Post nap confusion. Well your name's Kate. I'm Rick, and as for the rest, who really gives a damn?" The laughter in his voice, the teasing in his tone creates a giggle in her chest, one she pushes down.

"Helpful, Rick."

Standing up, she stretches both hands above her head, her back arching as she frees the kinks, and placing the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she extends her arms feeling for the nearest wall.

And more importantly, a light switch.

"You going back to your nap? Cause I could call back later."

"No. I'm up. What's happening?"

Her eyes shut, the light far too bright, and, trying again, she manages half a squint.

"Patterson's party. Starts at nine. You're still coming. Right?" Her head ducks at the stress he places on the "Right?" the loose curls hiding her face as she gnaws on her bottom lip for a second.

"Mmmm. I don't know. This is like the tenth party in the last three weeks. Starting to think you're only inviting me along for my body." Her chuckle ends the sentence, her knees falling onto the edge of the bed, her free hand reaching for the book that lies next to her pillow.

So that's what woke her up.

"Kate."

"I was just joking, Rick."

"I know. I just- I've really had a good time over the last three weeks…"

Pulling his book - she'd gone out and bought Storm Season, not that she'll be telling him that - to her chest, she grins at the cell, at the image of him on the other end, perhaps sitting at his desk, or in the kitchen, head dipping, his fringe flopping forward at his confession.

"Me too."

"I'll come up just before nine, then?"

"I'll meet you out front."

His low groan filters through the phone and her head shakes as she walks into the kitchenette.

"Out front, Rick."

"But-"

"But nothing. The last time you came to the door to pick me up, my bed paid the price. It's a fold out couch. It's really not meant for fucking."

Opening up a cupboard, she slides his book inside, just in case they do end up back here rather than at his place, and resting her rear against the fridge, she eyes her bed critically.

It really is on kind of a lean now.

"Well, if you'd just let me buy you a new one, then we wouldn't have to worry about it collapsing while I worship that extraordinary body of yours."

Her eyes roll. This offer isn't the first of its kind and she's sure it won't be the last.

"You bought me this cell. That's enough, Rick."

"That's vital. Otherwise I'd have to resort to sending smoke signals to be able to communicate with you."

"Well, first you'd have to teach me how to read the signals."

His huff brushes her ear through the phone and she smiles. Score one for her.

"If you're going to be reading something, you could start with my books."

Twisting to look over her shoulder to where she's hidden it - as if he can already sense that she has a copy - her face contorts. He can't see her through the cell. Doesn't really know that she's reading it. Does he?

"I have no time. And if I did, it wouldn't be spent stroking your ego."

"Well, no. It would be spent stroking my-"

"I'll see you soon, Rick."

"Not soon enough, Kate."

* * *

His right hand traces back and forth over her shoulder where the edge of the white material meets her skin, and a shiver inches down her spine, her thighs tightening under his touch.

The limo ride here was bad enough, his hands drifting across every plain and dip that was exposed, his fingers pushing to the point of indecency in what she's sure is payback because she refused to let him come up. Payback, which has created an ache that's only going to become worse as the night goes on.

Damn him and his fingers.

"Rick. Just the man I was hoping to see." Turning toward the voice, Kate offers a smile as Rick groans, burying his head into the angle of her neck to stifle the sound, the tumbler in his left hand extending away from her body. If he spills his drink on her dress, she'll castrate him.

Placing her elbow not so delicately into his stomach, she nudges him off her and he pulls back, his smile firmly in place. Not the one she gets though, this is all persona, and her lips tug a little higher with that knowledge.

"Patterson, what can I do for you?"

"An introduction would be nice, then I've got some paparazzi looking for a photo op, if you're up for it."

Rick slides his free arm around her shoulder, tucks her into his side, and she forces her eyes not to roll at the move. With any luck this won't deteriorate into a pissing contest. She's hardly a prize worth fighting over.

"James, this is Kate. Kate, James." Rick's hand moves in between them, the liquid swirling dangerously and it prevents her from extending her own in greeting, her head instead angling sideways for a moment to glare at him before facing James.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine. Please, will you join us for a photo?"

Shaking her head she refuses, can't think of anything worse than what would come from that kind of press, and lifting both hands, she pushes Rick toward his colleague.

"Go, have fun, I'll catch you when you're finished."

Rick takes a step away under her prompt, throws a glare of his own toward her, but, turning, he trails after Patterson and it leaves her silently chuckling at the way his bottom lip had dropped.

Sometimes she swears he is more like a nine year old than a thirty year old.

Letting her eyes travel slowly around the crowd, her arms cross under the band that encircles her chest, a sigh escaping her lips. She should be used to being alone at parties, but somehow being here for pleasure makes her so much more anxious than when it is for work.

"Well, well. I didn't think you were working tonight, Kate?"

Spinning on the spot, her gaze falls on Lisa, her teeth trapping the inside of her cheek as her lips narrow into somewhat of a smile.

"I'm not."

"You're a guest?" The acid and disbelief that drips off the blonde's words is a blade that pierces Kate's bare skin, pierces through every last one of the insecurities which have her questioning exactly the same thing. When Rick is by her side, she never doubts it; the way his eyes shine when he looks at her, the way his fingers constantly find a way to drift across her skin…

But he's not here now.

"Yes." Her best course of action seems to be short, sharp sentences and the hope that she can hold it together while in the other girl's presence.

"With who?" Lisa rotates her head sharply, left then right before resting her glare on Kate, an eyebrow raised and Kate mimics her actions. What does Lisa think she did, sneak in through the side door for the fun of it?

"How is that any of your business?"

They do say the best defense is a good offense.

Lisa's mouth opens, her eyelids narrowing but loud laughter from the other side of the room draws both their attention, stalling whatever nasty reply was going to exit the blonde's lips.

The flashes from the cameras become an array of dazzling stars, the group of five men standing before them hamming it up with different poses, and Kate's stare naturally settles on Rick, her lips curling as he salutes the paparazzi playfully.

"Oh. My. God. Is that your stalker?" Lisa's hand slaps Kate's back and taking a step away from the other girl, her spine becomes concrete. Fuck.

"What?"

"The guy, from like a month ago. The one that had tracked you down. That's him over there. The one in the red shirt." Lisa's exclamation increases in volume and Kate cringes as the old lady next to them steps closer.

"That's Richard Castle, the author. You should read more, Dear. It's good for your mind." The woman pats Lisa kindly on the shoulder before moving away, and Kate's eyes close, waits for what comes next.

"Are you here with _him_?"

Opening her eyes, she flickers a glance Rick's way, pushes down the smile as he pretends to rough house with another guy.

"Kate?"

"What?"

"Are you dating Richard Castle?"

She's fucking Richard Castle, she's partying with Richard Castle, but dating him? She wishes she knew.

"How is any of this anyone's business?" Her eyebrow lifts, the mask of indifference and boredom firmly in place as her heart thrashes inside her chest, the palms of her hands becoming clammy.

Lisa's eyes move slowly down Kate's body, inspects each inch and then lifting her glare, she shows her true colors. Every one of them painted in a shade of bitch.

"We'll see about that."

Pivoting on the spot, Lisa stalks away and Kate's fingers curl, her nails digging into her palms, her eyes unable to look anywhere but at the pain in the ass as she approaches Rick.

Do something, Kate.

But what?

For all the time they've spent with each other lately, the question of what they are hasn't come up. She hasn't wanted it to come up. Screwing him on every surface of the loft is fun, but they don't do dinner dates, they don't do long chats on the phone, or have arguments over who hangs up first.

They don't do a lot of things now that she thinks about it.

"It's only been three weeks." The words she mutters to herself do nothing to calm the worry that's churning inside of her. After all, she doesn't do relationships, doesn't want to be in one, doesn't want her heart to be open to any of the risks that come with being a part of something.

She was a part of something once, a family, and with that destruction so came her own.

As Lisa slides up to the group of authors, her smile flashing, her chest pushed forward, ice water runs through Kate's veins.

Oh, to hell with this.

Straightening her shoulders, Kate takes step after step toward them, places all her effort on getting the air in and out of her lungs in a normal manner, and as she reaches the others, she sees red.

Or should that be green?

Lisa's fingers toy with Rick's collar, her breasts firmly pressed into his side, her mouth against his ear, and the determination that had flooded Kate's system leaks out, forms a puddle of misery low in her heels.

Rick nods at whatever Lisa is whispering, his smile never wavering, his best glamorous mask well and truly in place, and normally it would be reassuring; she can tell the difference, but the little girl curled in the corner whimpers her doubts.

Maybe she doesn't know the difference at all?

His head lifts, his gaze crashing into hers, and for a second nothing changes, until, like a light being switched on, he smiles beautifully. The blue in his eyes becomes as clear as the ocean, his teeth flashing as his lips pull higher and that it's all the confirmation she requires.

Whatever they are, it doesn't matter. He's happy when he sees her and that's enough. It's more than enough.

Too much more, and there's a different set of issues to worry about.

"Hey, Rick."

"Hey."

Stepping to her side, his hand ghosts across the skin of her arm until he reaches her fingers and sliding in between each one, he cradles her within his grasp.

She gives a light squeeze, inches a little closer against his side, her head angling toward Lisa, her point well and truly made.

Back off.

Lisa's eyes narrow, her arms crossing her chest as she glares at the two of them, and while Kate's probably stirred up a bucket load of shit, at the moment she hardly cares.

Turning toward her, Rick places a knee between hers, his thigh pressing perfectly as he leans into her body, his lips finding the curve of her ear.

"Everything okay?"

Nodding, she brings her mouth to his neck, her teeth scraping across skin and tendons before she withdraws, pulls back enough to see into his eyes.

"You having fun?"

He throws a quick glance around the room before returning to her, his eyes rolling and she smothers her grin and her giggle into the firm muscle of his chest.

That's what she thought.

Lowering his hand, his fingers play with the hem of her white dress, bumping - purposely she's sure - against her thigh as he moves back and forth along the edge.

"What do you want to do about it, Rick?" She stretches high on her toes, the people and noise around them dissolving as he fills her senses entirely, and, rocking her hips forward, she punctuates her sentence.

His laughter rumbles through his body, his warm breath along her neck creating a shudder that leaves her listing into him again.

This apparently only encourages him further.

Letting go of her hem, he inches his fingers up her dress, over each ridge of her spine, through the plain of bare skin that is her back until he reaches the jewels attached to the straps over her shoulders, and, sliding in and around each one, he touches - without touching her at all.

"I blame this dress."

"Blame the dress for what?"

His fingers dip under the material and her thighs tighten around his leg as he continues to hold himself hard against her body.

"On all the things I want to do. All the things I want to do to you that I didn't get a chance to do the first time you wore this dress."

His lips press against her collarbone, teeth nipping before he dots kiss after kiss up and along her neck, and, pulling back, she swallows the moan that crawls inside her throat over the loss of contact.

"I wonder if they have any rooms hidden away?"

"Only one way to find out, Kate."

* * *

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Thank you! All of your support is so heart warming xoxo And it's winter here ;-)

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for all your love xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	12. Exposure

**.**

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Twelve - Exposure

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Kate takes a step back, bumping into Rick, and her hand lifts to her lips, stifling her laughter as it bubbles up inside. The grunts echoing down the only out-of-the-way corridor from the party allude to the fact that…

"Someone else is screwing in our spot." The indignation coating his words doesn't help contain her amusement either, and she angles her head over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised before she schools her features.

"How is it _our_ spot? And that's it; we've searched everywhere. There's nowhere else that's private enough."

Why in the world can they not make party venues with more secluded spaces? Clearly, they're not the only ones looking for a bit of alone time.

"Maybe we could ask them how long they're going to be?"

Pivoting on the tips of her toes, she faces Rick, both hands on her hips as her mouth opens to reply before she shuts it again. Sometimes there is just no response.

"Okay, so not one of my brightest ideas. But..." He places his body hard against hers, his fingers stretching past the hem of her dress, under and up to reach the slight rounded edge of her ass, and slowly he inches his hands together, meeting on top of the thin white line of her thong. He doesn't stop though, traveling down the satin until he touches between her thighs. "You're so wet, and I want you so bad."

Damn him.

Using his chest to suppress the moan that escapes, she grinds onto his hands, rocks back and forth, as the pressure scrapes gloriously against her clit, all rational thought dissolving under his touch.

"We could try the restroom?" The hope in his tone combines with his fingers as they slide beneath her underwear and at this point, she's almost ready to agree to anything if he would only finish what he's started.

It's not like they haven't fucked in a bathroom before.

"You lost my good black bra last time."

"And I offered to buy you a new one." He growls his frustration and her mouth finds the tender stretch of skin below his jaw line, kissing him and his feelings better. She's just not ready for gifts, regardless of how easily he can afford them; letting him buy her the phone was hard enough. "Anyway, Kate, you're not wearing one tonight."

His hand moves from under her dress, past her hip, up until he slips a finger underneath the material at her breast, his fingertip catching the edge of her areola and everything inside her tightens in anticipation.

"That's not the point I was making."

"What was the point you were making?"

He circles the bundle of nerves between her thighs, simultaneously does the same with her nipple and her hips jerk forward, the ache that he created in the limo on the way to the party is now tearing her body in half and if she doesn't get her release soon, she's going to have to take matters into her own hands.

"Your point, Kate?"

Huh? She has no idea what the hell he is going on about. And why are they still standing here listening to another couple grunt their way to an ecstasy that she should be experiencing?

"Is it too early to get out of here?"

A flush of embarrassment heats her cheeks as she utters the question; they're supposed to be here supporting Patterson's new book, not skipping out of the party after an hour, but, as his finger dips inside of her, her care factor shrinks to zero.

"You are so the brains in this relationship, Kate."

* * *

"We should've called for the limo while we were inside, Rick. It's freezing out here."

Even wrapped in his arms, her hands buried underneath his jacket as she interlocks her fingers at the small of his back, the icy wind twirls around her legs, creeping up her dress, making the sensation between her thighs a frozen experience. The laughter that had danced within her has turned into icicles that are stabbing at her skin as they stand here on the curb.

"You should wait in there. I'll come and get you when it arrives." He moves to withdraw but she tightens her grip around him, pulls him even closer if that's at all possible.

Any closer and she'll merge them as one.

"No. Not leaving. Just keep me warm." Burying her nose into his shoulder, she inches her feet in between his, and he spreads his stance, his thighs now bracketing hers, shielding her from the cold. From the outside. From the world around them.

Minutes slide by as they stand alongside the road, the tension within Rick becoming a tight coil next to her body, his impatience seeming to increase. His shift from foot to foot is a now constant fidget and she can only wish on the stars above that their driver gets here soon.

This night is not going according to plan. At all.

"Go inside, Kate. I'll call them again." He's stepping back, no leeway in his tone, and her hands fall uselessly to her sides. It's a different aspect to him, one she's not sure what to do with and while, yes, she's beyond cold, it's mostly her fault that they're leaving so early, that they can't get away quickly, that there was no one prepared for such an early departure.

"Rick…"

Cupping her face between his hands, his thumbs trace the arch of her cheekbones, his head bending forward, his lips meeting hers, and she opens her mouth, entices him with her teeth and tongue, creating their own fire of warmth.

Maybe the night's not a complete disaster after all.

A blinding light slices through the dark, her body jerking back and away from Rick's as she stares at him, her wide eyes fluttering in confusion.

What the hell was that?

A camera's flash?

"Oh, God. No."

It's a photographer and her body becomes a ridged mess, another burst of light burning her retinas. Stars appear from behind her eyelids as she closes them against the intrusion, but the small amount of relief that comes from the darkness is short lived, her body swaying as Rick lurches from her side.

"For Fuck's sake. Leave us alone." The venom in his words has her eyes snapping open, her fingers reaching for him except there's nothing but air - he's already stalking away from her.

Her feet follow automatically, her hand reaching for his back, for the hem of his jacket, for anything that could slow him down.

"Dude. I'm just doing my job."

She can't quite see around Rick's broad shoulders, can't make out which photographer they're chasing, which one was out looking to capture that million dollar shot.

He's looking in the wrong place.

"Rick."

Coming to a halt, she stops running, has no chance really of narrowing the gap between them. Surely, he's not going to do anything stupid…

"Rick!"

* * *

For a second everything slows down. The cars driving past, the thump of her heartbeat, Rick's rush toward the paparazzi; _everything _blurs and bends disproportionately, spinning out of control.

"Rick!" Her voice cracks on the k as what he's about to do tears her heart apart.

It's only fair.

He was the one slowly putting it back together. It seems fitting that he will be the one who shatters it again.

The kind of press that comes with assault charges could be enough for Rick to see exactly what kind of a train wreck she is. This is all her fault. Rick's hatred of photographers is because of her, what she'd been forced to do in the past. She knows his anger stems from the circumstances that surrounded them getting together, and a sob shudders through her body.

She never meant for any of this to happen.

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Rick's feet stumble, his body spinning back toward her, his eyes wide, and whatever it is he sees, whatever it is that is ripping her to pieces must be horrific enough to have him coming to a complete stop.

He comes back to her.

Lifting his arms, he engulfs her shoulders, his body all-encompassing as he draws her tight against him, his head burying into the angle of her neck and she slumps into the warmth that he provides.

"I'm sorry. Kate, I'm sorry. I just- I gave them my time already. I did the photo op that they wanted and I- you shouldn't be dragged into this. You shouldn't be taken advantage of just because you're with me. I'm sorry."

He breathes the words into the planes of her skin, his apology forming smudges on her neck and her hands grasp the material at his hips, bunches his shirt as she holds on with all she has.

"No, Rick, no. It's okay. It's my fault-"

The honk of a horn cuts through the rest of her sentence and both their heads turn toward the sound. The limo that they'd been waiting on is finally arriving, and as relief washes away some of the tension that had been clinging to every part of her, Kate nudges him toward the vehicle.

"Let's go, okay, let's just forget about the asshole and his camera, and get out of here."

Nodding, Rick reaches for the back door, pulls on the handle before the driver has had a chance to round the back end of the limo, and she slides in, her eyes slipping closed, so glad to be getting away from what could have been a disaster.

They dodged a bullet there.

Rick sits beside her and she opens her eyes as he flops his head back into the expensive leather, her hand reaching for him, but she stops, her fingers hovering uselessly between them.

How does she explain that she's not worth fighting for? Not worth the trouble that could have rained down on him like a torrential downpour. He has his whole life before him, he can't throw it away. Not for her.

"I'm sorry, Kate."

Her head shakes, she's not worth his apologies either, and twisting sideways, she lifts herself onto her knees, up and on top of his lap, her thumbs sliding over his lips, the quiet _shush_ breathed from her own filling the space.

If only she were enough for him.

Placing her mouth onto the pink and red hues that are his lips, she stifles his next sorry before it can exit, the weight that sits on her shoulders becoming a little heavier as she slides her tongue along his.

He shouldn't have been in that position, felt the need to chase the photographer.

Sliding her fingers down, she pulls at his shirt, the skin of his abdomen and the dusting of hair brushing the back of her knuckles as she tugs at the clasp of his pants. The black suit he'd worn was such a good choice for him.

She wishes she were…

"Kate."

He mumbles her name into her mouth and she pulls back, her fingers no longer moving the zipper down.

"I can hear you thinking from here." His eyebrow lifts, and ignoring his comment, she leans forward, hides her face in the shadows of his neck, rakes her teeth hard into his skin, her fingers freeing him from the constraints of his boxers.

Swirling her thumb over his tip, a gutted groan overrides whatever else he was going to say, and a tear escapes the corner of her eye, slides slowly across the skin of her cheek until his shirt absorbs the moisture.

She'd been in such a rush after waking from her unexpected nap, Rick's call reminding her about the party, and in her haste to get out the door, she'd forgotten to do anything else.

The devil on her shoulder throws its pitchfork on the ground, its mouth sneering at her stupidity. A habit is a habit for a reason, and while being surrounded by Rick normally fills her senses enough that the call of cocaine can wait until she's alone - she almost always keeps it separate from him - tonight, past insecurities, past worries are boiling away, breaking the surface.

If she were making wishes, she should probably wish for a past rewritten. Wish to be more than she is.

* * *

Placing both feet onto the rug that sits underneath Rick's bed, her toes curl, her arms stretching high above her head as her back arches, her body trembling. The dark of the early morning clings to the corners of his room and she doesn't need a clock to tell her that she should be asleep.

Would be, if only she could.

Swallowing the groan of frustration that comes with being awake, she tilts her head to the side, her chin resting on the bare curve of her shoulder as she takes in the man behind her.

Rick's fast asleep. He always is when she creeps out of his loft, makes her way back to hers, goes back to the reality that is her life at least during the daylight hours. She doesn't have to check her schedule to know that it is full of auditions, photo shoots and catwalk appearances, and her eyes drift closed at what lies before her.

Working all day and night as well as keeping up with Rick whenever she has a free moment is taking its toll and the idea of crawling back under the covers sounds more than a little appealing.

Leaning down, she props herself up on an elbow, her gaze traveling over the way his features hide in the pillow, his naked back laid out before her, the comforter haphazardly tossed over the rise of his ass, and her lips tug into a smile.

Damn, it would be all too easy to ignore the tremor that's coursing through her body, ignore her long to-do list, ignore reality...

Closing the gap between them, her mouth finds its way to the firm plane of his shoulder blade, the hard muscle begging for another kiss.

She has to go.

Her eyelids flutter shut, and, pulling away, she steals one last glance at the perfect picture before her.

Too perfect for her.

Raking her fingers through her hair, she retrieves the outfit from last night, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she slides it over her head, begins the search for her thong. They hadn't bothered to take it off in the limo, but she's sure that he'd removed it before they'd crashed into his bed, and a sigh escapes.

She doesn't have the energy for this, and her head falls forward, her eyes landing on a pair of Rick's sweats.

Hell, she might as well complete the walk of shame with an outfit to match.

Tugging his pants on, she ties the string as tight as it will go, her feet silently padding across the floorboards as she makes her way out of his loft, her fingers reaching for her heels which lay discarded in the entrance way.

She casts one last glance over her shoulder, her hand pulling open the front door, and as the paper he has delivered flops onto the floor, she stretches down with her free hand. The least she can do is bring it to his side.

Grabbing the pages, she picks it up but it all falls apart, the paper raining onto the floor, the different sections spreading like angel wings before her feet.

She spots the photograph first. Her mom's smiling mouth is pulled wide, her dad's arms are wrapped around both their shoulders, and her own happiness is shining up from the page, a slap across the face.

It's her high school graduation photo.

It's from before her heart was broken, before the train crashed, before her life became nothing but dying in fragments of white powder.

Her knees crack as she falls to the floorboards, her body bending over the pages. A sob breaks her chest open.

She can't cry.

This isn't real.

Except beside that photo is another.

That's her, kissing Rick, on the curb, the headline screaming at her.

_Orphaned Model Katie Snags Playboy Rick Castle. Her Own Daddy Replaced With The Ultimate Sugar Daddy!_

* * *

_._

Thank you all so much for your reviews, glad you enjoyed a lighter moment last chapter, hold onto that... xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their beta and pompoms xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	13. How far to broken?

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Thirteen – How far to broken?

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

"Kate."

Buried beneath the ground, mounds and mounds of dirt are pushing her down. Past the grass, past the worms and the insects, past the rock and the granite, so very far below until there is nothing but black.

Never ending black.

"Kate!"

Her world shakes, everything sloshing, tilting one way, then the next and it jerks her backward and forward, her stomach swirling with the movement. But then the earth is pushing down on her again and everything becomes still, heavy.

Is this what it is to be buried? Do you sense that the dirt is covering your coffin? Does it fall and fall until the sky disappears? Is this what her parents went through?

"Kate. Wake up. Kate. I need you to open your eyes. Please. Kate. Why won't you open your eyes?"

Rain descends onto the dirt, pitter-patters splashing down, little craters forming on the exposed ground as the liquid lands, the perfect spheres shattering into broken pieces.

Everything is broken.

"Hello. I need an ambulance. She won't wake up. I keep trying, but she won't wake up. I think she's overdosed. I don't know what to do. Please. Hurry. Please."

* * *

"Sir, what happened?"

"I don't know. She left her cell at my house, I was returning it and the front door wasn't shut. It was open, and Kate would never leave it open and I came inside and I couldn't find her and I don't- I came into the bathroom, I don't even know why and... Oh God. Why won't she wake up?"

Her head tilts down as she stares at her feet, her arms swinging loosely by her sides, her toes curling around the edge of the cliff. It's such a long way down. Nothing but black spreading out before her.

Why is everything so black?

"Have you touched anything, Sir?"

"No, nothing, I thought- I didn't know if you needed it? For testing or..."

"Do you know how much she's taken?"

Her head lifts up, the sky above so very far away. The clear blue is a perfect match to Rick's eyes, and her breath catches as two long white clouds stretch across the expanse. Raising her arms, she extends her hands, tries to reach them, _him_.

Two lines, Rick. It was only two lines.

God, she'd wanted more. She'd wanted to dissolve in the white powder, wanted to lose the image of her parents' smiling faces, the way they'd beamed up from the pages scattered across the floor.

Of all the photos from her past why did the newspaper have to pick such a happy family portrait?

Rick.

It was only two lines.

* * *

"We have a young Caucasian female, possible OD…"

She turns toward the rough voice, the skin on her forehead rippling in confusion, and lifting a hand, she wipes it across, smoothing out her skin.

Where's Rick?

"Sir, are you her next of kin?"

Her eyes search through the black, squints as she tries to focus but there's nothing. The new softer voice is just as elusive as the last one.

"No. No I'm… I'm a friend. I'm…"

Rick?

"Sir, we need to contact her next of kin. Do you have a name? Or a number?"

"No. I- I don't think she has anyone. Kate's never talked about her past and I- I never asked. But the paper- This morning in the paper... I don't know. I'm sorry. I don't know."

Reaching toward his voice, her fingers extend but as she looks down at them, they begin to dissolve, her flesh melting before her eyes.

"Sir, are you able to give us any details. Her birth date? Allergies? Is she on any medications?"

Her hand fades into the black as her arm slowly erodes, each breath becoming a fight.

A fight that she's losing.

Rick?

"No. No. I don't know. Oh God, there's so much I don't know."

Why is everything black?

* * *

Why is it so bright?

Her eyelids are closed, she's sure of that, but the pink hue stretches in every direction. Left or right, up or down, it doesn't matter; it's all pink light.

The slightest of touches ghosts across the back of her hand, over and over, tracing circles. The black that's lurking behind extends its tentacles toward her, seeking to draw her back under.

"Sir, you're not supposed to be in here. Family members only."

"I know, but there's no one. Please. Just until she opens her eyes. I just..."

Rick?

Footsteps sound until there is silence again and squeezing the muscles of her face, she tenses. It does no good and forcing herself to relax, this time her eyes open into a squint - it's only the smallest of margins - blinding white light slicing through.

Where is she?

Swallowing, her mouth is a dry cavern that tastes like sandpaper and it shreds the flesh from her tongue. Water. What she wouldn't give for some water.

The touch on her hand tightens, and her fingers wiggle against the pressure, attempt to escape the movement. She doesn't succeed but the constriction becomes gentle again.

"Kate?"

Her tongue flickers between her lips, swipes the flesh as she tries to open her eyes again.

"Br-ight."

A chair scraping along the floor abuses her ears, her shoulders hunching at the intrusion, but the nasty pink morphs into a soft grey, and her eyelids can finally flutter wide.

The blue in Rick's eyes above her steals the little bit of air she had within her lungs, yet it's nothing compared to what the red lines shooting through the white does to her. His eyes are so bloodshot.

"Have you been crying?" The rasp that escapes her mouth is horrific and her nose scrunches at the sound.

His eyes close, a shudder rocking his body as he drops his head down into the space next to her hip, a muffled sob leeching through the sheet and then he doesn't move.

"What happened?"

Flopping her head to the side, she examines the IV cannula in her hand, the machines reading her stats, the white walls, and it hits her for the first time.

She's in a hospital.

"You collapsed. I thought- It doesn't matter what I thought. It was exhaustion. Your body said _enough_ and you collapsed in your bathroom."

Her eyes close, everything flooding back in a tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air and she propels herself forward, sits in the bed, her stomach rolling with the action. Oh, God. The paper.

"Kate. Kate you need to breathe. You need to calm down. Please. I-"

His i breaks in half, and her hand blindly searches for his. Whether it's to reassure herself or Rick, she has no idea. She finds him though. Finds him and holds on with all that she has.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Rick."

His fingers rake through her hair, pulling the strands back and away from her face, his lips crashing over and over onto the skin above her eyebrows, her cheek, her mouth, a fragmented "no" interjected between each kiss, until he comes to rest his forehead against hers.

"It'll be okay, Kate. It'll be okay."

Smiling, an expression placed on her face all for him, she nods her agreement, her free hand reaching for the cup of water someone had placed on the table beside her.

"I'm fine." The water is a balm to her throat. "Just doing too much, with work, and- I just gotta eat a bit more, that's all. Vegetables and healthy greens."

Avoiding his stare, she places the cup back down, watches as the liquid splashes in its attempt to spill.

"Kate. Is- did this have- it wasn't because of the paper? Because- do you want to- we should talk-"

No. God. Not that. She won't survive that.

Her back straightens, her chin lifting as she forces her lips upward again.

"Of course not. I'm just running on empty. There's nothing to talk about."

Leaning into him, she narrows the gap between them, brushes her mouth across his, and he returns her actions, thankfully, kisses her back.

More importantly, he doesn't return to the subject of what was written on page six.

She will be fine. Will get out of here and return to work, return to her normal life and they can both forget about the past that she can't speak of.

What had he once said?

A burden shared is a burden halved?

If only…

* * *

Her head stays down, eyes focused on the floor as she squeezes through the huddle of girls by the entrance, their chatter going quiet. It's not just them though, each step into the backstage area brings with it another layer of silence, and instead of looking up she counts each breath as it enters and exits.

One. Two. Three.

"I'm surprised they let you turn up tonight, Kate. Given that apparently you missed all your scheduled jobs yesterday and this morning."

She doesn't have to look up to know who stands before her; she's immediately on edge and wanting to resort to violence which means that it's her favorite person in the world.

Lifting her head, Kate pushes all expression from her features, her stony - hopefully - unreadable mask firmly in place as she stares at Lisa. Surely, she still has work today? Even with her unexpected absence. She's hardly the first model to be admitted for exhaustion, and she was out of there after a night of observation and several bags of fluids had been emptied.

Much to the doctors' - and Rick's - protests.

She's fine.

"But then I suppose, Kate, you could always get that sugar daddy of yours to pull a few strings. He's a millionaire right? Must be friends with some pretty powerful people?"

Her heart slaps against her ribcage, each beat a thump in her eardrums, the time between each one narrowing as the tempo increases. Panic engulfs, overrides every thought, turning her body into a statue.

Fuck.

"Hell, Kate. I'm surprised that you have to show up for work at all? Or does he like the time apart? I guess he has to- you know- take care of the other girls in his fancy world."

The snicker that accompanies the blonde's scornful expression is echoed by the others in the room and Kate's eyes flicker around, her stare blurry until she blinks. Blinks again.

For some stupid reason all her attention had been spent worrying about Rick. The silent drive back to her apartment this morning, the hesitant way he'd asked to come up, the _yes_ she'd swallowed as her head had shaken out a _no_, her body tumbling from the car, the day spent trying to forget her parents' faces as they lay on the floor in the loft's doorway, trying to forget Rick's voice as he pleaded for her to open her eyes.

Not once did she give a thought to what had happened outside their cocoon.

"Lisa…" Her mouth stays open, but nothing comes out. What is there to say?

"Tell me, Kate, what hurts more? The fact that your alcoholic father stepped in front of a cab because you weren't enough to stay sober for? Or the fact that your boyfriend's been known to lose himself in his own bottle of scotch? I mean… did he really ride a police horse naked?"

There's a crack, inside, a fracture that opens wide, displaying everything she's trying to conceal. Lisa's not wrong. She's trying - and failing - to hide her past, her suffering, the concerns she has as he lifts a tumbler to his lips, as she bends over another white line.

The worry that they are not in a relationship but instead, a holding pattern of destruction.

"For the love of God, Lisa, leave Kate alone."

Her head jerks to the voice beside her, eyes dropping several inches. Sammy stands there, hands on her tiny hips, and Kate draws her bottom lip into her mouth, her teeth squeezing down to prevent the tears from doing anything more than prickle at the corner of her eyes.

Hold it together, Kate. Just hold it together.

"Oh, Sammy. Go stick your nose somewhere else. I'm sure you'll find a tray of crack around here if you look hard enough."

Lisa takes a step toward them, and Kate pivots on the spot, turns her back on the girl, her hand reaching to grasp Sammy's before letting it fall to her side, grateful for her friend's support, even if she shouldn't have bothered.

Her feet move, the models in front of her parting like the red sea, and with her spine straighter than a rod, her shoulders pulled back, her chin high, she walks away, no idea what the fuck she is doing.

No idea except that breaking down with witnesses is not an option. And that ideal will hold her together in one piece until she can make it to her apartment.

* * *

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Thank you all so very much for your continued support xoxo I baked cupcakes on the weekend, sending them your way!

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie cause you rock all the socks! xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	14. Is this it?

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Fourteen – Is this it?

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

The key to her front door scratches the paint as it slips away from the dead bolt again, and Kate's head lists into the chipped wooden surface. The tears that have been threatening since she'd walked away from work, away from the other models, away from the truth in Lisa's words are beginning to slide down her face.

The effort to put her keys into all five deadbolts may be a task that she just can't do.

But then again, having a breakdown in the corridor really isn't an option either.

Fuck this.

Swiping the back of both hands across her eyes, she inserts the key again, turning the last lock, and as the door handle moves freely, a sob rips from her chest.

She stumbles in, hands reaching for the fold out mattress, and, drawing the pillow toward her, she collapses on top of it. If she can just bury her head, cover her ears, everything Lisa said, everything that she says to herself, will be smothered.

If only it were that easy…

It's not, and the voices play on loop.

Her dad didn't love her. Couldn't have loved her. If he did, he wouldn't have sought to find his wife down the bottom of a bottle. He would have turned to her, would have loved her enough to be sober, to be there for her.

Didn't she lose a mom too?

The pillow flies across the room, bounces off the wall, landing with a soft sigh onto the floor, and the quiet action mocks the anger that's beginning to churn her stomach. Her heart pounds, each push of blood around her body creating a shudder that tugs at her skin, the edges of her vision fragmenting into a kaleidoscope of colors.

Why wasn't she enough?

Picking up the pillow, she grips the end, swings it back, whipping it into the wall, but the dull thump does nothing, and she spins, her glare darting around the room.

Mom was murdered and Dad didn't love you. Little orphan Katie.

Her fingers curl around the empty glass sitting by her bed and, picking it up, she hurls it toward the wall. The sound of it shattering imitates the sound within her soul, the broken pieces raining down onto the floorboards just the same as the shards of her heart and she turns toward the next available item.

Why the hell does she not own more things?

Regardless of where she looks, there's nothing. A fold out bed, a table, and a freestanding wooden wardrobe. Her life in three pieces of furniture.

This is her life?

Curling the fingers of her right hand into a fist, she slams it into the wall. The pain at her knuckles immediately radiates out across her skin, through the joints of her wrist and up the bones of her forearm, and the tears well, spilling down her cheeks as she smacks her head into the plaster.

What the hell is she doing? She has better ways to forget than this. Quicker, painless ways that will have tonight, this week, hell, the last year of her life dissolving until it is nothing more than a bad dream.

If only this was a fucking nightmare that she could wake up from.

Cradling her hand between her breasts, she walks through the broken pieces of glass, the slashes of pain barely noticeable as she heads toward the bathroom, toward the awaiting oblivion, toward-

"Kate."

Her head snaps at the sound, her eyes widening. Rick stands in the doorway, his mouth opening and closing as he stares at her, his fingers caught in the strands of his hair.

He has the softest hair.

"Rick. How did you get in?"

"How- Kate-" His head twists, looking back into the building's corridor before focusing on her again, his hands throwing themselves in the air. "Your front door was left open. Again."

Oh. Right. Shit.

"I-"

"Damn it, Kate, what happened? What happened to your hand?"

He closes the door and crosses the apartment in five long strides, his right thumb brushing along her cheekbone, wiping the salty tracks left by her tears. His other hand hesitantly hovers over the fist still curled against her chest, and, dropping her head forward, she avoids his stare.

What can she say?

Sliding under the mess that is her right hand, his fingers draw hers closer, his thumb featherlike as he moves across the cuts that mar her skin and, biting down on the inside of her mouth, she remains a statue.

"Oh, Kate."

He breathes her name as he leans down, his mouth resting against her broken skin, dotting a soft kiss onto each red stain.

Cradling her hand over his heart, he narrows the gap between them, his lips placing kiss after kiss onto her cheeks before finding her mouth, and she opens, grants him access, takes all he can give.

If only it was enough.

Pulling back, her forehead rests against his, her lips able to move, and, whispering, she explains with the only words she can form.

"Everyone knows."

He doesn't ask for more, appears to understand what she's referring to, and, with one hand still holding hers to his chest, the other lifts, encircling her shoulders as he tucks her into his body, his chin gently falling on top of her head.

"I'm so sorry, Kate. So sorry. It's my fault. My fault that they took the picture. That it was on page six." His arm constricts around her, and her breath catches. "This is all my fault."

Tilting her head up to look at him, tears begin to spill, again. How can he not see that this isn't his fault at all? She's the one that is broken.

"No. No. Rick. It's me-"

He silences the rest of her sentence, his mouth covering hers, his teeth and tongue an urgent heat and she responds, nibbling and darting, crashing into the hot desire that is him. Everything that is him.

All she can taste is the coffee lingering and it buzzes underneath her flesh; all she can smell is the heady scent that clings to his skin. All she can hear is the rustle of his clothes against her own; all she can feel is the firm curve of his ass as she pulls him closer. All she can see is him.

In this moment, it's enough.

* * *

He lies her down on her back, and she sinks into the mattress easily, both elbows digging into the thin foam as she drags herself further into the middle, the tips of her toes latching onto the angle behind his knees.

Not that he moves. He stands quietly by the edge of her bed, eyes assessing her and for a second she's curious as to what he sees. What could he see in her?

"Let me get you something for your hand. An Advil? You should rest. God, Kate. You were only released from the hospital this morning."

The grief in his expression is too much, and, hiding, she inspects her knuckles, the red that's smudged onto her skin, the jagged edges of the small wounds. Her shoulders lift.

"It's fine. _I'm_ fine."

The pain has blended into all that aches, and she shrugs again.

Sitting, she proves her point, uses both her hands to tug at the loops of his pants, pulls him closer to her, and he falls onto his knees, her ankles crossing behind him, keeping him in place.

"No. Kate. You were admitted with exhaustion. You're tired. We can't."

"Please, Rick. I-" Everything's a mess. She's a mess. But she has to forget and it's this or it's… "Please."

His fingers rake through her hair, brushing the loose curls away from her face and she angles her head, her eyes latching onto his.

There's a cloud there though, a ghost across his expression, something she hasn't seen before, and her gaze drops, her attention on her fingers as she works to free the buttons of his shirt.

Maybe he's seeing the truth? The chaos that falls to those that dare be a part of her life.

Maybe this is it…

Drawing the separated halves away and off his shoulders, she catches the tender flesh of his chest between her teeth, and his lower half bucks in response. Her tongue laps as her teeth pull, the guttered groan above her head speaking volumes, and, lifting a hand, she pinches his neglected nipple.

It's wrong, a tiny voice whispers, wrong to use what she knows against him. How to push the right buttons, make him hers.

"Please, Rick. I need this."

His hesitancy paints a picture that hurts, but if this is their last time before he walks away, she has to have him inside her, has to memorize every second so she has something to cling to once he has left.

And as she lies down, closes her eyes, her soul weeps.

Why does the idea of not seeing him anymore destroy her all over again?

His fingers tug on the hem of her tee, and her eyes widen. Raking it up, he exposes her chest, unclasps her strapless bra in one movement, and she watches, notes every detail of his face, the light in his eye, the lift of his lips as he removes the silk, her breasts laying exposed, but it's only for a second. His mouth, his tongue, trace the underside curve, up higher until his teeth mimic her earlier actions, his hands toying with her left nipple, and it's her turn to jerk her hips, seeking a pressure that is absent.

Clasping the short strands of his head, she encourages him down, the muscles of her rear squeezing as she hooks a toe into the back of his pants, her feet blindly searching for an anchor.

He follows her lead, his teeth scraping along the plane of her abdomen, fingers trailing behind as his blunt nails make similar paths on her skin until they reach her denim shorts. Carefully, he undoes the button, and the air inside her catches as his body moves off the bed, his tender touch stealing her ability to breathe. Dragging the material off her, she lifts her hips as he discovers her bare skin underneath.

Very bare.

Curling one corner of his mouth into a soft smile, his eyes dance up and down her body, and as she lifts to discard her shirt, still bunched high on her chest, she moves to roll over onto her stomach.

There's a twinge of sadness that floods her system before she pushes it down. If this is their last time, if the new shadow on his face is him getting ready to leave, she should be able to give him more than her back. She should take the opportunity to watch him, at least once, even if it leaves her raw and revealed...

She should, but she won't.

His hands land on her hips, not hard, just a solid pressure that prevents her from pitching forward anymore, and as her gaze meets his, her spine settles onto the mattress again, her mouth openings to protest.

Not that anything escapes.

He looks down at her, his hands working on his pants, but it's his expression that holds her attention, the lines of his face as he watches her lying naked before him.

The urge to turn over onto her front continues, crawls under her skin, kicks the broken pieces inside of her around until she's shaking, a constant shiver that rolls along her body, over and over, a whimper lodging high in her throat.

Rolling the condom onto his length, his eyes leave hers for a moment but all too quickly he's back, silently observing her, and the desire to hide herself away fights with the ache in her heart and the one between her thighs, the overwhelming throb that tightens every muscle.

God she wants him so much.

With a hand on the inside of each calf, he angles her legs a little more, creates a space for his knees as he settles onto her bed. Bending forward, he positions a hand either side of her head, and she remains motionless underneath him.

Open and exposed.

His head descends inch by inch, his mouth drawing her bottom lip in, his tongue swiping her flesh, and her hips lift, chasing him. Not that it helps, his body is too far above, and her legs draw together, her knees at his waist.

It's been so long since she's been in this position she'd forgotten what an asset the lower half of her body can be.

Raking her toes along the back of his thighs, she crosses her ankles behind the swell of his ass, uses her heel to nudge the crevice between each glorious muscle and he jerks toward her in response, his hips lowering at last.

She angles hers up, her fingers digging into the defined muscles of his biceps as she manages to knock their pelvises together, but as he groans into her mouth, he's already pushing back, too strong for her feet to keep him in place.

Damn it.

The ache inside her abdomen radiates from between her thighs, spreads until every inch of her skin pleads for contact, pleads for his touch, pleads for him.

He's pulling back though, his mouth leaving hers, his body elevating, the gap between them growing, and a sob gathers in her chest, the loss of him forming a different type of ache.

"Kate."

Her name, a whisper, almost a prayer, fills the space between them, and everything around them fades away.

"It's going to be okay. I'll make it okay. You don't need to model, the drugs, any of it. I'll make it okay."

His hips lower as he reaches a hand between them, coats himself with her want, the very tip of him pausing, the barest of touches and using both of her feet as leverage, she arches higher to no avail, his fingers preventing him from entering.

"Kate?"

"Yes. Yes. Rick. Okay. I promise. I promise. Please."

She'll promise him the moon and the stars if he'll just end the burn between her thighs, the craving that is ripping her body and mind apart. Please.

His fingers circles her clit, once, twice and then finally, perfectly he slides into her, every inch of breath exiting her lungs in a sigh that goes on and on.

* * *

Her body tenses, the muscles of her back contracting as she stretches next to him, her legs drawing straight, the evidence of the last hour drying on her thighs and her nose wrinkles.

Ugh, she needs a shower.

Pulling the sheet away from her body, she rearranges it around Rick, his soft snores portraying how far he's slipped into sleep, and, bending forward, her lips brush his shoulder before she drags herself out of bed.

He's still here…

She stands, legs like liquid, and as her feet touch the floor, tiny razors of pain shoot through her.

What the hell?

Sitting back down, she rests her left foot onto her right knee, the fingers of her hand flexing as the newly formed scabs crack, and she shakes her head at her stupidity. Punching the wall was definitely not her finest moment.

Neither was throwing the glass. Or walking on the broken pieces.

Shit.

The shards are embedded in the bottom of her feet and she groans, a shaky nail raking across the exposed fragments. She's going to have to remove as much as she can.

Hobbling into the bathroom, she closes the door behind her, the agony from the short walk enough to set her teeth on edge, and, shutting the lid of the toilet, she lowers herself onto it. She just needs a second.

Her fingers latch onto the rim beneath, her head dropping as she inhales deeply through her nose, holds her breath before releasing the air with a huff.

Get a grip, Kate.

Sliding open the flimsy door to the cupboard below the sink, she retrieves her tweezers, trembling fingers knocking into her hairbrush and it dominoes, half a dozen items falling to the floor.

Damn it.

Grabbing as much as she can with one hand, she stuffs it back onto the shelf, goes to get the rest; her eyeliner and a small plastic bag.

The tremble in her fingers expands, her whole body quivering as she eyes the white granules contained within the transparent plastic.

The growl doesn't even pretend to start quietly; instead it begins inside of her with an almighty roar, and her eyes close, shutting out the sight.

Yeah, that'll work.

Her skin crawls, the pain in her feet and her hand bellowing in objection, every muscle contracting, each joint snarling as she sits there unmoving.

There is probably a gram of cocaine hidden in her bathroom, a day's worth if she's having a bad one, and every single grain screams at her, her fingers wrapping around the bag while the battle continues inside.

It's a waste to not use what she's already bought; her body is in too much pain, and the exhaustion that had hospitalized her yesterday continues to cleave her into chunks, her mind still reeling from the truths that have slashed across her psyche.

She'll just finish what's at her place. She won't buy anymore. That's okay. It's taking steps in the right direction. She'll get clean. Fix the mistakes she's made. Everything will be okay…

She will be okay…

Right?

* * *

_._

_I would have an itch, a craving, would bargain and lie to myself, and I feel like I'm selling my soul to the devil, but the want… it's stronger than me. Anonymous. Website sobernation . com_

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* * *

_._

The gratitude I have to you all for supporting and staying with this story (which I know is hard and personal for some) truly is heart warming xoxo

Thank you!

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for putting up with me xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	15. There was hope

**.**

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Fifteen – There was hope

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Kate's fingers shove at the wet strands, her hair clinging to her face as the water slices like needles against her skin, the tiny pinpricks burning. The cold coming from the showerhead jars just as much as the hot water did before it ran dry, and it all combines, leaving her skin covered in blotches of red. The cuts on her feet scream their protest at standing, immersed, for the last twenty minutes or so.

Not that she's really aware of any of it.

Her body is turning on itself, every last molecule pulsating, begging to be freed, and, dropping a hand, she scrapes the sharp edge of her fingernail along the length of her arm. Nothing escapes though, and her eyes narrow. Shouldn't it be pouring out of her?

The manic dance created from the two larger than usual lines has left the world spinning, as she stands on top of it, raised on the tips of her toes, her head tilted back, she's unable to step out of the shower.

She can't face him, can't walk out of the bathroom and find out what happens next.

Or worse, walk out to discover there is nothing left to face.

* * *

The thousands of ants crawling under her skin create a ripple that winds its way around her body, no start, no end, just a constant shudder that portrays how tightly she's coiled, how high her hit has made her, and, reaching for the towel, she finally shuts off the water.

Silence greets her. A never-ending stillness that goes on and on, through the thin walls of her bathroom, into the rest of her apartment, and, securing the purple terrycloth between her breasts, she elevates her chin.

It doesn't matter what's on the other side of the door. It doesn't matter that it will be empty. That he is gone. Nothing matters.

The cocaine darting through her system could sell ivory to an elephant.

Exiting the bathroom, she steps into the living area, and the mantra misses a beat, then another before righting itself. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

She doesn't need him to provide a warmth to her skin, doesn't need him to provide a skip in her step, she's got that handled.

Although what happens when there's no more powder left in the bag? Wasn't that going to be her last hurrah before she started again… started on a path without anything but her own strength holding her up?

And why can she hear laughter at that notion?

It's not coming from her apartment. There's no one here.

* * *

Her head angles, her eyes staring at the ceiling without seeing, the back of the sofa propping her up. It's more than a little odd to be sitting on the cushions rather than the foam mattress, she can't recall the last time she'd put the fold out bed away, and of all the things Rick could have done before leaving, what in the world made him do that?

She wishes she could cry. Wishes she could feel something other than numb. For the first time in far too many months, she wishes that she could mourn the loss. Actually grieve.

That's a first.

The sound of keys hitting the locks on her front door have her jumping up, her hands flying to her towel, her eyes darting around the room in a panic. She really should invest in a baseball bat. Hell, some pepper spray would be handy about now.

It's no good though, and sweat breaks out at the base of her spine, her fingers tightening on the material knotted around her body as she backs away from the noise. Who the hell stole her keys?

The front door swings open and the fear and paranoia - maybe just a little exaggerated by the substance flooding her system - kicks into overdrive, each breath coming in a rasp, each thump of her heart no doubt going to be her last.

"Kate?"

"Rick. What-" Her jaw drops, her gaze flickering up and down his body - the take out bags in one hand, her keys in the other - and stupidly she asks, "How did you get my keys?"

Okay, probably not the first thing she should be saying but "Why are you here?" is a question she can't verbalize. More importantly, the answer is something she can't hear.

"You left them in your door." His eyes mimic her actions, taking her in. "I pulled them out when I arrived, last time. The first time." Rick's shoulder shrugs.

Right.

"Anyway, I got dinner. Lasagna. But then on the way back I stumbled upon this Chinese place, and, Kate, the smell was heavenly. So I grabbed some of that as well. You have a little freezer, and you could freeze some. And tomorrow morning we could go get some groceries. Do you know how to make pancakes? I could show you how to make pancakes-"

"Rick..."

He sucks in a breath, and even across the room, she hears it enter. The rambling, going out for food, the talk of tomorrow, has her eyebrows drawing together, no doubt the lines on her face deepening.

What is happening here? And is he nervous?

"I don't- Are you-" Considering he has too many words, she apparently doesn't have enough. Although that's nothing new. When does she ever have enough of anything?

His gaze never leaves hers as he walks into the kitchenette, setting the bags on the counter and her arms cross under her chest, the towel threatening to fall down with her movements.

"It's just dinner, Kate. I thought…" His Adam's apple shifts and her fingers dig into her palms, the small fire that was created in the bathroom expands from the pit of her abdomen, spreading across her skin, setting her alight.

She ignores it, at least for the moment, and, approaching Rick, she peers into one of the bags as he begins working on emptying the contents of the other. She almost wishes she did have an appetite because the food looks delicious, her stomach contracting at the smells. Or is it just reacting to the thought of digesting it?

"You okay?"

Nodding, she studies his face, the ripples of his forehead, the downturn arch of his lips, and her whole body squeezes.

"Why are you here?"

Shit.

He stands tall, his hands falling to his side, mouth opening- and his phone rings.

Dropping her head, she studies her fingers as they grip the counter, her skin turning white under the pressure. Why, of all the words to find, did it have to be those?

His cell continues to ring, over and over until it finally gives up, quiet settling again, and not moving, she avoids his stare, the heat of his gaze singeing every inch of her.

"Kate."

His hand pushes the curtain of hair away from her face, and, tucking it behind her ear, his thumb traces the line of her jaw before his lips brush her cheekbone. It takes all she has not to react, not to drop her towel and prevent his answer from being audible. Distract him the only way she knows how.

"Kate. There's something I wanted to-"

His phone begins again, stopping his sentence and while the majority of her is cheering at the interruption, there's a quiet, niggling voice that whispers its curiosity. What was he going to say to her?

Because as much as she can't work out why he is here, he is, and surely that means something?

Jerking the phone to his ear, he loops his free arm around her shoulders, preventing her from withdrawing, and she edges a little closer in spite of her urge to flee. She can do this…

"What?"

The impatience in his tone makes it harder than it should be and she frees a hand from between them, tugging his shirt up to expose a line of skin at his hip. She loves the feel of him against her, his solid form strong, sturdy, and, drifting her thumb back and forth, she attempts to calm him.

"No. No… What do you mean tonight?"

His lips sweep across her forehead as he shifts the phone away from his mouth before he lays his cheek onto the top of her head.

"No, I have plans toni-"

Inching her hand around his back, she runs a nail up and down the ridges of his spine, a smile spreading as his hips buck into hers, his protests continuing into the phone.

He has plans. They have plans. Plans together. A night in with dinner and damn, if that doesn't shut down all the voices that have been playing on loop, nothing ever will.

"Yeah. I know… I just- My stuff is important too."

He pauses for a second, and she uses the time to wiggle her other hand around him, their combined bodies now the only thing holding up her towel as she snuggles closer. Maybe dessert can come first?

Pulling the phone away from his ear, he drops it with a thud against the counter, and she tilts her head to observe his face. It's not a happy one.

"Kate. I-" His head shakes, his lips dotting a kiss on the skin between her eyebrows before he shifts back a little. "I'd forgotten that I was supposed to be at a gig tonight. I was a charity event prize. You know. A night with 'Richard Castle'."

His fingers lift as he makes air quotes, and she steps away, the towel falling from her body at last. Standing in all her nakedness, she places both hands on her hips, stares down her nose.

"A night with Richard Castle? Should I be worried?" The grin she'd been fighting wins, her mouth drawing wide as he licks his lips, his body slumping forward, fingers stretching out for her.

Groaning, he traces his thumbs along her collarbones, toward her neck before cupping her cheeks and looking into her eyes, his bottom lip drops further.

"You're a mean, mean woman, Kate Beckett. I'm not allowing _that_ to happen, just a lot of grinning and bearing the pain." His mouth ghosts across hers, even though he keeps his body far away, and her smile morphs into a smirk. She is damn horrible for doing this to him. "But I will be back. As soon as I can and I will be having dinner with you. And, Kate, I-"

His sentence trails off, his gaze studying the floor, as he seems to search for the words. They don't come though, his mouth finding hers again, and really, she's okay with that.

He's coming back. Soon. To her. And she can't wait.

* * *

Shifting from foot to aching foot, she eyes the crowd making their way around the entertainment area of the mansion, the black, almost sheer material of her dress brushing her thighs every time she moves.

"I can't thank you enough, Kate."

Angling her head down toward Sammy, she pushes a smile onto her face; it's hardly her friend's fault that she's here.

"Hey, it's okay. I would never let you come to a private party by yourself." The dangers of it turning into something other than just a modeling job, something other than just smiling and being a pretty face, have been experienced by more than one girl, and they always go in pairs. Safety in numbers. At least that's the hope.

"I know. But still, thank you, I'm sure you're supposed to be resting, or... I just wish I knew what happened to Karen, and why she's not answering her cell."

Kate shrugs. It's hardly the first time someone hasn't shown up for one of their jobs, she's missed out on two day's pay now, and internally she cringes. She's going to have to make some decisions about what's next, and soon, because as much as Rick doesn't want her to continue on with this life, as much as she no longer finds it as enticing as it once was, bills still have to be paid.

And other things need to be bought... No. Her head shakes at the thought. She has a little left at home and that's that. No more...

And regardless of the amount she'd inhaled before Rick had come back, the way she really shouldn't need more, every cell inside of her is rearing its ugly head, beginning its whisper for another hit.

Somehow, unsurprisingly, it's not going to be as simple as just saying no. Worse luck.

"Whose party is this anyhow?"

"It would be my party, Beautiful. Christophe. And just who are you?"

A male's voice from behind her is accompanied with a hand on her bare shoulder and she steps away, his fingers left curling mid-air, hovering next to her chest, as a calculated expression settles onto his face.

"I'm Kate. And I'm just here for Sammy." She indicates her thumb toward her friend and Sammy waves a hand in greeting, not that he acknowledges her, his eyes fixed on Kate's breasts, the black number barely covering her chest.

"Well, Kate, just here for Sammy, it's a pleasure. Can I get you a drink?"

She shakes her head, the unease that's creeping through the space between them leaves every strand of hair standing on end, and she straightens, elevates her chin. She's not being paid tonight, and while she's not about to cause trouble for Sammy, she's also not about to let this rich sleaze know how much he's affecting her.

"I'm fine. Thanks." Moving her body away from Christophe, she turns toward Sammy but clearly it's to no avail, his fingers inching around the arch of her neck, a thumb caressing the line of her jaw.

"Maybe I can get you something else? You look like a girl that appreciates certain other recreational aspects of life." His hand drifts higher, his thumb sweeping under her nose, across to the hollow skin under her cheekbone and her eyes narrow even as her heartbeat escalates.

Think, Kate. Think.

"Well that would be illegal, and my boyfriend would never condone something like that."

What does Rick say when telling a story? Start with a truth, and it's easier to sell the rest.

"Oh, your boyfriend? Did you bring him along? Or does he share?"

Christophe's thumb snakes over her ear, his fingers tangling in the loose curls that she'd left out as she'd rushed to get to Sammy's side, and bizarrely his touch makes her stronger. It's such a contrast to the way she's normally held. To the way Rick holds her.

"No, unfortunately he's working tonight."

She locks her gaze with his, holds the contact and while it's taking everything she has not to tremble, she won't allow him to think that he's getting anything from her tonight. Or ever.

The realization hits her. A thump to her stomach and the sensation has her stepping away, again, Christophe's hand falling to his side as his glare sharpens. She knows what it is to be held, to be caressed, to be touched, and _this_, this is not it.

And she searches for a way to make sure it's not just her that's left alone tonight.

How often has she stood next to Rick, enthralled as he'd chatted with other authors about the process of coming up with a good tale.

"He's a cop..." Her teeth gnaw on the inside of her cheek as she rapidly filters through ideas to scare a creep like this one away. "Works in homicide."

Sammy's fingers curl around her elbow, giving a light squeeze, and Kate darts a glance toward her, catches sight of the other girl nodding along and a smile breaks free at the support.

"I was just saying to Sammy that he thinks he's so funny, but really, I don't find his jokes all that great."

Christophe slides back a step, the space between them now a respectable distance and her teeth flash, the sense of power that comes with his actions washing over her.

"Jokes?"

"Oh, yes. He was saying to his partner as they left this afternoon." Kate draws Sammy into her side, an arm around her shoulders. "His partner is Sammy's boyfriend, so the four of us spend a lot of time together. Anyway, they were saying that the best part of their job is that they'd have all the knowledge they'd need."

"Need?"

Another foot opens up between them.

"To get away with murder. And really, it's just not that funny is it? I mean, it's completely true of course, but not really _that_ funny." She elevates an eyebrow, and waits. God, she can't remember the last time she'd felt this alive.

Not counting Rick's slow and amazing ability to bring life to every inch of her body.

"No, not- not really that funny." Christophe stumbles over the simple sentence and the skin on her cheeks actually hurts she's grinning that much.

This is wonderful.

"Anyway, ladies. Enjoy the party. I-" His wide-eyed stare darts around the room as he looks anywhere but at the two of them. "I'd better make sure everyone is having fun, and-" His mouth opens and closes like a fish but nothing else exits, his body turning away from them as he almost runs across the room.

"Oh, Kate. That was fantastic." Sammy beams up at her and Kate nods. Fantastic is an understatement, she feels ten feet tall and able to leap buildings. She completely put him in his place. "Just how much time have you been spending with that author of yours?"

Dipping her head down, Kate's grin doesn't diminish but she does attempt to hide the red that is no doubt tainting her skin. Besides parties and booty calls they haven't been spending that much time together, at least not counting tonight. And it washes over her again. He'd bought dinner for her, had been ready for a night in, like a normal couple, hell, he's supposed to be returning once he's finished with his 'win a night' and that does all kinds of things to her insides.

Is this the start of something… more?

"It's…" It's indescribable.

Her shoulder lifts as Sammy nudges into her, and using her shorter statue, she pokes her head underneath Kate's.

"Yeah?"

"Sammy! Kate?"

Turning toward the voice, Kate's smile settles; Karen approaches them, her hands tugging down her dress as she hurries.

"Karen?"

Sammy speaks first, her surprise ringing loud, and the other model waves in response.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry. I was held up at the Johnson job. And I can't find my cell. I mean, geez, I have enough trouble finding my keys; I can't stand having something else to remember- Kate, are you working tonight too?"

She shakes her head, tilts herself slightly toward Sammy.

"Just here for back up."

Sammy squeezes her hand, and Kate gazes at her friend. Her reluctance at coming out, the worry about being in a party environment, the anxiety of whether she could do it after everything with the paper, has fled, a newfound sense of accomplishment replacing those feelings.

She did great tonight.

"Anyhow girls, I'm gonna leave you to it. I'm supposed to be resting." Adding in a wink, Kate leans into Sammy, throwing her arms around her in a hug before standing back. She's more than a little ecstatic about getting out of here and going back to her apartment. And hopefully sooner rather than later, Rick will be there too.

"Wait. I have something for you, Kate." Sammy reaches into the front of her dress, her eyes scanning the crowd. "I'm really grateful that you came. With everything that you- I just- thank you."

Pulling out a small square bag, Sammy pushes it into her hand, her fingers encircling without thought as she stares down at it.

Oh. Fuck.

By the feel of it, there's about half a gram in there and her heart dances manically, every molecule inside singing in joy.

Yet it's not the same joy that was just coursing through her body, the feeling that had her head high as she'd shot Christophe down. It was only for a fleeting moment, but that second was amazing.

Her parents would have been proud of her.

Swallowing, her eyes flicker closed before she opens them wide; all it takes is one step, one step in front of the other. And she's not alone. For the first time since her world had fallen apart she's not alone in this struggle.

Holding the bag out to Sammy, she smiles, confidence pushing her shoulders back. She doesn't need this.

"Thanks, Sammy, but-"

"Kate? What are you doing here? What are you doing here with _that_?"

* * *

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Thank you xoxo your wonderful words, especially given the nature of this angst, they mean so very much xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for all their mad beta skills xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	16. Broken Pieces

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Sixteen – Broken pieces

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

"Rick?" She pushes the small bag of cocaine back into Sammy's hand, smiling at her friend even as her body turns toward him, and, hurrying over, she closes the gap between them. "What are you doing here? Wait- Don't tell me Christophe was the guy who won a night with you?"

Seriously, what are the odds? And a chuckle escapes; maybe they can take advantage of the sleaze's mansion. Surely he has private rooms.

Rick's hand curls around her bicep, each finger a heated brand against her bare skin, but it's confusion that rips through her, not lust, as his grip verges on tight.

"What-"

"Let's go. Now." He cuts through her question, his body twisting from hers, although he doesn't release her arm. His fingers continue their uncomfortable hold, and she jerks herself away. What the hell?

"Rick?" Taking another step, she increases the gap between them, her eyebrows knitting together. The delight that had her feeling ten feet tall, and the power that had come with returning Sammy's bag has well and truly leeched away. There's nothing left but bewilderment.

"No. No. You don't get to do this, Kate. Not here." His head shakes, his fingers curling around her wrist, and her stare travels around the room, sees all of the party goers that are not so subtly staring at the two of them.

"If you would just tell me what's wrong, Rick."

"What's wrong? What's wrong!" He steps into her body, his mouth next to her ear and a shiver slides down her spine at the way he hisses each word. "I left you at your place, resting, and instead of you being there, I look up to find you here. Partying. Doing cocaine. Fuck, Kate. You promised."

He stalks away from her, and her mouth opens wide before she snaps it shut. She has reasons, good reasons, and, rushing after him, frustration pounds with each beat of her heart.

It's so tempting to let him just walk away, disappear from her life, but she's supposed to be leaving her bad choices behind, choosing a new path, and damn it, he was supposed to be a part of that.

She follows his broad shoulders, manages to keep him in her line of sight all the way outside to the curb, and, stepping to his side, she shoves a hand against his back.

"Hey, don't walk away from me."

"Not now."

His tone is barbed wire, his head facing the road, and, stepping off the edge, she rounds his body to stand in front of him.

It's only for a moment though; both his hands grip her shoulders as he pushes her back to his side, his glare crashing into hers.

"Shit, Kate. Would you just stop and think? Just for one damn second, stop and think about what you're doing."

She shifts away from the razor that he's become, and a town car pulls into the space where she'd just been standing. Shit that was a little close, and she swallows her retort. Although, if _he'd_ just stop and think for a moment, she wouldn't even be in this position.

Opening the door, he all but pushes her into the car ahead of him, and, lifting her chin, her teeth grind on top of themselves, the tension escalating inside her. Shifting over, her stare bores into the back of the front seat, her fingers creating half moon crescents as they dig into her palms, and refusing to look at him as he rattles off her address, she seethes.

She's not a child, and she doesn't appreciate being treated like one.

* * *

The door of her apartment slams behind her. Every mile that they'd traveled was made in silence, and it had fed her frustration until it morphed in to an anger that's left her blood simmering. But they're here now, away from prying eyes, loose tongues, and a gossip mill that's probably already turning, and she wants answers!

"How dare you, Rick? How fucking dare you jump to conclusions?"

He pivots at her words. His eyes locking with hers, and the blue that normally shines for her is a black storm cloud.

"Jump to conclusions? Kate, you were standing in the middle of that party with a bag of fucking cocaine in your hand." His right hand lifts, his fingers raking through his hair, but he doesn't move from the middle of the room, and she takes a step toward him.

"No, it wasn't like that." Okay, yes, she was, but she wasn't going to take it. She was giving it back to Sammy, and that's not the issue here. "What you think you saw and what actually happened are two very different things. I was only there to help Sammy until Karen arrived. And that's not the point."

"Not the point. How could that not be the point?"

"The point is you manhandled me like a fucking brute, and then ran away." Her fingers rise to the spot where he'd grabbed her, rubbing at her skin. "I never thought you'd ever touch me like that. Like _them_."

The _them_ doesn't need to be expanded upon and his whole body deflates before her, his shoulders slumping, his head dropping down. She takes the moment to breathe, inhale as much air as she can, tries to get a firmer grip on the situation that's unraveling between them.

He really hadn't hurt her, not physically at least, but his actions sure as hell weren't okay in any sense of the word.

"I'm sorry. I'm really…" Closing the gap between them, his thumb nudges her fingers aside, drifting across her unblemished skin.

"Sorry. I know. I know that's not you, but damn, Rick, why?" The confusion coats her anger, brings it down a notch, and she shifts her hand higher, covers his as he continues his caress on her arm.

"You lied. Kate, you looked into my eyes and swore that you would stop modeling, stop taking that shit." He spins away, his hands curling into fists. "Not even a night. You couldn't even stop for a whole night."

She tugs her bottom lip into her mouth, her teeth clamping onto the flesh until the metallic taste of blood reminds her to let go. What can she say to that?

"I wasn't taking the bag Sammy had; I was giving it back to her. If you hadn't yelled and interrupted me, you would have seen that. But no. Please, jump to conclusions, Rick."

Her sarcasm raises her tone, although he appears to ignore it as he rounds the couch to pace the small strip of fraying carpet behind it; up and down he stalks, his head thrashing side to side.

"So you haven't had any? Haven't snorted a line since you'd made that promise?" Coming to a halt, he whips around to face her, his glare cutting through the space, and her mouth opens to tell him that she hasn't.

Except she has. Two lines. But it was only so that she could finish what's in her apartment. She's stopping… she is.

Her silence seems to say too much and he swears softly under his breath, takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. The pain surging from him smothers her heart, and it crashes, the little fragments spreading out from her like a tidal wave.

"That's what I thought." His head shakes. "I know you have demons, Kate. But enough is enough."

Every muscle of her body contracts, turning to concrete at his statement. Demons. What the fuck does he know about her and her demons?

"You know nothing. Nothing, Rick. Not about me, about my life. You think that you have a shitty past. It doesn't even come close to the hell that I've been through. You had a dream taken away from you. You had a possibility and a maybe and a bit of hope for a different life." Each word chases the other out of her mouth, every synapse inside her body firing in a hundred different directions.

"I didn't just lose a dream, Rick, I lost everything. My reality, my goals for the future. My _parents_. My life. I lost _everything_, so don't stand there, and tell me that I have _demons_. My demons have monsters under their beds."

His body is a statue across from hers and the stillness unnerves her, a tremble breaking out, a shudder that rocks her over and over again.

"I don't know what happened to you, Kate, that's true. And it's because you've never told me. The details that I do know, I read in the paper. Bits of second hand reporting. Because instead of turning to me when it all came out on page six, you turned to cocaine. Even before that happened I didn't know what you went through because, despite the fact that I've laid myself bare for you, that I told you my deepest, darkest secret, you've never shared a single thing about yours. And I was fine with that. Really I was. We were having fun. Living from one party to the next, but…"

Her eyes close, his accusation spearing all the pieces of her heart that lay scattered on the ground between them.

It's not just him though, she's never told _anyone_, never brought to life what happened, because sometimes she still opens her eyes in the morning expecting to be in her dorm at Stanford, expects to be able to pick up the phone and have her parents on the other end.

"It stopped being fun, Kate. It stopped being fun the second I walked into your bathroom to find you unconscious on the floor. It wasn't _fun_ when I shook your shoulders pleading for you to wake up. It wasn't _fun_ when I had to scoop up your cocaine so they could take it with you to the hospital. It wasn't _fun_ when I pulled strings to get _that_ fact overlooked by the authorities." He falls onto the sofa, his head dipping between his knees. "I don't want fun, anymore, Kate."

Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, one breaking free to trail across her skin as his confession hollows her completely. They're done. The concept of there ever being a _them _is over. He doesn't want her. And despite the fact that it's always been there, the knowledge that this day would come, that he would eventually see her for the fucked up mess that she is, it still hurts.

Hell, this isn't even in the same ballpark as hurts.

"Do you think I want to be this way?" She whispers the question, and it surprises her when he looks up. "I was supposed to be a lawyer, Rick, just like my parents. I wanted to be just like them. I was at Stanford. And sure, the years leading up to that I wasn't exactly the good girl. I did some things that I'm sure gave my parents gray hair, but I was at least on the right track."

She was doing something with her life, was going to be the first female Chief Justice and now, now she can't even go a day without taking something to numb the hell that is her life, without having her body abused in some way or another. Now she has nothing and no one, and _this_ is her life.

"So don't sit there and tell me that life's not fun, Rick. Nothing about my life is fun. I count myself lucky that I manage to get one foot in front of the other." It's such a fucking effort some days to keep herself upright. "You don't get to sit there in your expensive suit, with your beautiful loft awaiting you, surrounded by your millions of dollars and tell me that your life isn't fun anymore because of me. No one asked you to be here, Rick."

He bolts off the sofa, takes two strides to stand before her and she lifts her chin, refuses to back down. She never asked for any of this.

"If I wasn't here, you'd be dead. You get that, right? I'm the one that thought you _were_ dead. That sat by your bedside in the hospital, holding your hand, and for the first time in my life I actually prayed that if you'd just wake up I'd do whatever it took to make it better, to make you better." His fingers cup her jaw, a thumb sliding across her cheekbone. "You say that you could have been more, better than this? Then make it better, Kate. Choose something better than this. Because you are. You're extraordinary and remarkable. You're passionate and brilliant. If only you'd let yourself see what I see, what everyone else sees."

She takes a step away from him, his statement far too heavy on her shoulders, and, squeezing her lips together, she lists back. She's not. Not even close to being any of those things. She has to make him understand.

"Stop. Stop it, please. Because whoever you think I am, whomever you've created in your head, in your imagination, that's not me. I'm not a character in your book that you get to write a better ending for. I'm not someone to be fixed with hugs and good intentions."

Everything's breaking, they're breaking. The ghosts of her past have finally won, and for a moment, she wishes that she could be what he sees, be what he dreams, that she could change.

"You can't save me, Rick."

* * *

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Thank you for all your support xoxo I am open to ideas, because something tells me not even cupcakes will be enough…

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for your amazing work xoxo

.

Thank you for reading xoxo


	17. Nothing Something Anything

**.**

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Seventeen – Nothing. Something. Anything.

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

The contents under the bathroom sink cascade like an avalanche onto the cracked tiles. Kate's hairbrush, sounding ten times louder in her silent, empty apartment, bounces twice before coming to a stop next to the toilet and her gaze lingers on it before she refocuses. It's not what she's searching for, and, pushing the clutter aside, her fingers curl around the small bag that holds her very last lines of cocaine.

_"You're better than this, Kate." _

A whisper drifts across the skin of her neck, skims the curve of her ear, and the tears that she had successfully held at bay begin to spill, one after the other.

How? How can he have such faith in her? How can he believe that she can be more than this? And a sob wracks her body.

Squeezing the bag tighter, she breathes in but the air becomes trapped in her throat. Her head shakes but it doesn't silence his words, and another sob starts low in her abdomen, crawls higher until her shoulders rock as it escapes.

He's just another person she's disappointed.

Join the family, Rick.

Her fingers slip, sliding across the plastic as she attempts to get the two sides open. She's moving too quickly, the haste from outrunning the images of her parents - their disappointed faces - makes her clumsy and the bag falls to the floor.

Don't feel.

It's the mantra that she's been living her life by, and, yet, the choices she's made - turning to modeling, starving herself, taking that first hit - have been nothing but a band aid, a quick fix.

Her parents are still dead.

And she's still here.

Just.

* * *

She turns her head, scanning the rows that dot the green plains. So many names, so many lives - lost. The landscape is desolate of people, except for her, and she shoves her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat, unable to work out which is the right way forward.

She hasn't been back until now. The last time she came here she had stood off to the side, separate from everyone else who'd been grieving for her father. Had stood alone, unable to cry, unable to let go of the anger that had stripped her bare, broken the last jagged shard that was left of her heart.

She'd barely kept it together through her mother's funeral. A month later she hadn't had anything left for her father's.

Quietly, she'd left her former self behind. Her future. The life that she was going to have was buried along with him, and she'd walked away, swore she'd never be back…

Except here she is.

She sees her mother's gravestone first. The three Latin words are so striking against the others that are in this section, and, taking another step, she edges closer, her father's now in sight beside the first stone.

_For he loved her. Esse Liberum._

It was all that she could think of at the time, and, as she falls to the grass strip between them, her hand sinks further into her pocket, finding the metal she'd placed there. The thin silver chain holds their wedding rings, and, twirling the necklace between her fingers, she slips them onto her thumb, studies the two bands that had linked her parents long before she was ever a thought.

"I'm sorry."

Her whispered apology is lost to the wind as it rages around her, an icy cold that reflects the chill in her body, the numb that is her soul. It doesn't matter - there's no one here to hear how sorry she is.

And her breath catches in her throat, the realization striking her down like lightning.

There's no one here.

No one but her.

Lying down on the cold ground, she tilts her head, focusing on her mom's name for a moment before the gravity of it all becomes too much. Eyes closing, she forms a fist around the rings on her thumb, and the metal cuts into her flesh, adding pain onto pain. Releasing them, her hand grasps the little plastic bag that she'd fled here with, her fingers running over the flimsy seal.

It would be so easy…

* * *

"What are you doing, Katie?"

Smiling, her mother turns to her, the plate of pancakes landing on the counter with a quiet thump, and Kate grins, her tongue licking her lips in anticipation of Sunday brunch.

"What do you mean, Mom?"

Reaching forward, she gets the back of her knuckles smacked, her mom laughing as she pulls the cloth away, the warning clear - she has to wait for her Dad.

"I mean, Katie, that life doesn't give you more than you can handle. So what are you doing?"

Her eyebrows draw together as she stares at her mom, the confusion over what's happening makes everything so much thicker. A fog that she can't seem to see through.

"I don't understand, Mom?"

Stepping closer, her mother encircles her shoulders, pulls her closer, and she inhales, breathes in the warmth that radiates from her skin, from the kitchen, from life.

"Oh, Katie, you don't need to understand, you just need to trust."

"Trust what?" What is there left to trust?

Pulling away, she turns her back on her mom, reaches for the container next to the plate. With a pinch between her fingers, she sprinkles the white powdered sugar in a line around the pancakes, her nose scrunching as the action seems familiar, but wrong.

"Trust that truth conquers all."

The edge of her vision is blurring, there's a black that's creeping toward her, and she shakes her head; attempts to clear it, attempts to focus on her mom.

"What truth, Mom?"

"That you're stronger than this, Katie. That you can do this. Be better, take those first steps."

Shifting away from the counter, Kate's fingers rake through her hair, tugging at the strands as her stomach rolls.

"You sound like, Rick."

"That's because he's right. But, Katie, he's not why you need to get better. He's not _just_ why you need to get better. You can't just swap one addiction for another."

Her head ducks, the pink warming her cheeks no doubt telling her mother far too much. God, she could lose herself within him so very easily.

"Katherine Houghton Beckett, you need to get better for _you_. You have so much before you, and I know you can't see it, but we do. We see the truth."

Looking up, there's nothing but black, and panic crawls inside, her heart thrashing as claws grip her tight.

"What truth, Mom?"

"That you're more than your past. You're more than our deaths. You're more than this, Katie."

And she opens her eyes. Sees the truth as clear as day before her.

* * *

Searching at the base of a nearby tree, Kate picks up and discards half a dozen rocks before she finds one large enough, and walking back to her parents' gravestones, she sits down on the grass once again.

Turning the rock over, she grips the flat end and digging into the ground, she shifts the dirt, a hole forming.

It's barely anything, the soil too hard, too frozen to make much of an indent, but it will do, and, opening the bag, she pours the cocaine out, her fingers shaking as every cell screams its rage.

But the truth will set her free, and, standing, she stares down at her mother's name. Taking a step forward doesn't mean forgetting, and, lifting the chain up and over her head, she tucks the rings under her shirt, buttons up the coat she'd thrown on as she'd fled her apartment.

Moving sideways, she rests her hand on the vertical surface of her father's gravestone, her thumb drifting over the Latin words, in and out of the grooves, and she allows a smile to break across her face, even as the tears begin to fall down her cheeks.

"Be free, Dad."

Straightening her shoulders, she turns away, holds her head high as each step takes her further and further from them.

One foot in front of the other, away from her past.

* * *

Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she gnaws on the flesh as she stares at the building before her.

It looks more like a resort and she turns the piece of paper over again, reads the address at the top of the page before putting it back into her coat - it's correct. Shaking her head, she reaches for the rucksack at her feet, and, throwing it over one shoulder, she takes a deep breath.

This is it. Her first step. The one thing that might be able to save her from the path of destruction she'd been traveling along, and glancing around the empty sidewalk is a stark reminder. She's here alone.

But she's not. Her mother is here, her father too, and her free hand encircles the rings nestled between her breasts as she takes a step toward the entranceway.

Letting them go, she pats the paper tucked away in her pocket, another layer of darkness falling from her shoulders. She wouldn't have this opportunity if it hadn't been for Rick and a smile tugs her lips high at the memory of him fighting for her. Their argument started because of a misunderstanding but it had escalated, becoming so much more than harsh words and painful truths.

It had been his last stand.

* * *

"You can't save me, Rick."

His head shakes, the ridges of his face becoming cliffs, and as he stands before her unmoving, she holds her breath. She has to make him see that there's nothing worth saving here.

"No, Kate. You won't let me save you. There's a difference. I can help. I-" Rick reaches into the pocket of his jacket, his nose wrinkling as he peers down, and withdrawing empting handed, he searches the other side. Between his fingers he holds a small, white folded piece of paper and her stare flickers between it and his eyes. "Tonight. Before we... got side tracked, before dinner and-"

He swallows and she doesn't need him to say it, before he left, she left and it all went to miscommunication hell at the party.

"I came to tell you that I'd organized for a placement. It's at a rehab upstate, everything's paid for. You just have to show up, Kate."

The shadow that had flickered in his eyes as he'd looked down on her, the look she hadn't been able to read as they'd had sex, is at last explainable. He'd had this bombshell in his pocket - had been afraid of the fall out. With good reason.

"You did _what_?"

She edges further and further away from him, not that she can get very far; her craptastic apartment doesn't allow for that. The air around her is too thin, breathing a task she may not be able to do for much longer, and her back hits the wall. God, what has he done?

"I promised that I would make it better, and I can. I will. This place is supposed to be amazing, they have a great success rate and-"

"Stop!"

"What? Kate-"

"Stop!"

Every fiber of her being is shaking. Every muscle, every blood cell.

"Rehab. You want to send me to rehab. So what? I can come back all fixed, all better? This place is going to magically make what's happened in my life okay? Going to make everything that's happened disappear?"

Her hands reach for her head, her palms digging into her eyes until stars appear. She can't do this... She thought that she could, she really did, but...

Fuck.

"No, Kate. No. I don't think it's going to magically make it all better, but it's a start." She opens her eyes, watches him stalk toward her table, tossing the paper on its surface before turning to her again. "It's like you don't even want to try. Like you're happy in this life!"

Happy. She thought for a moment she was. That she could be.

Slumping to the floor, the wall behind her is the only thing holding her up, and she works on slowing down the race of her heart, the thump of her blood as it pounds inside her body. She needs to calm down before she says something she'll regret.

He doesn't let it go though. Closing the gap between them, he squats in front of her, a palm swallowing each of her knees as he stares at her.

"I'm falling in love with you, and I know that it's soon and you're not ready or even if you ever will be, but Kate-" A tear perches on the edge of his eyelashes and her stare remains caught on it as it stays whole, unbroken.

What is she doing to him? What is he doing to her?

"Kate, I can't stand by and watch you die, and I would, I _will_ do anything you need, I will be by your side every second if that's what you want. We can get through this together."

Leaning forward, he brushes his lips across her forehead, and, every part of her wishes she could tell him _yes_, tell him that she feels it, _something_, too, but her body doesn't move.

How does she grab onto the life preserver when it's also the one thing that could drown her completely?

"Anything, Kate. I can do anything but stand here and watch you lose yourself to this. Lose your life to this."

The tear breaks free, slides along the smooth plane of his face, past the lips that she adores kissing, the jaw that's lightly coated in the stubble she could spend the rest of her life touching, and as it falls from his chin, he stands.

Turning from her, he makes his way to the door, and she has to stop him, has to tell him that she wants him too. That she's been falling just as hard.

But she doesn't. She can't. Not like this. He deserves better. Better than what she is. Better than this broken shell. Better than this mess. He deserves everything.

Opening her front door, he looks over his shoulder, his face shattered pieces.

"_Anything_, Kate."

* * *

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Thank you all so much xoxo

And this ends Part One (Kate's struggle). Part Two will be out in three to four days and will take us through to the Epilogue (Chapter Twenty-three).

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for listening and supporting all the angst that spilled out of me to get to this point xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	18. Always

**.**

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Eighteen – Always

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Drawing the book closer to her chest, Kate peers through her lashes, watches the girls flitting around the room. Perfect hair. Perfect make up. Perfect clothes. And the thrashing of her heart, which has been pleading with her to flee since she'd arrived, escalates, reaching a new level of fear.

What is she doing here?

Standing in a borrowed skirt and top that doesn't fit her, she shifts from foot to foot, until the line moves forward and she's forced to go with it.

Another step forward.

Her fingers begin to ache, the hold she has on the hard cover now a death grip, every muscle tensing, a knotted ball of anxiety, but she's done harder things than this in the last two months.

Well, almost harder.

The last girl before her skips from the head of the line over to the table, and, with her free hand, Kate tucks the curtain of hair she'd been hiding inside of, behind her ears. Lifting her head, she glances at him for the first time, and everything comes to a stop. Her ability to breathe, the race of her heart, the nerves churning her stomach. Everything.

"Next please."

He doesn't look up, his eyes remaining on his pen and the blue seems duller somehow, the lines of his face deeper, and, damn this was a bad idea. She shouldn't have come, shouldn't be opening up old wounds.

Did she do this to him? Make him hollow?

The security guard to the side of the line rests a hand against her shoulder, gently encourages her forward, and, placing her book down on the table, she stands frozen, unable to say the millions of words she's been rehearsing in her head.

"Who should I make this out to?" He flips the front of her copy of _Storm Season_ open, his eyes still down, and she swallows the fear that's leaving her speechless. She can do this.

"Kate. You can make it out to Kate."

Nothing happens. For the longest second nothing happens. His head doesn't move, his pen remains hovering over the page, and then inch by inch he raises his stare, and it's like coming home. He locks his gaze with hers, a smile stretching his lips wide, and standing, his chair falls to the floor.

"Hi." Every doubt she'd had dissolves as he breathes out the word, the light in his eyes brightening as he flickers his gaze across her body. "You look good. I mean- healthy. Are you? Good? Are you okay?"

Smiling, she nods, her hair falling free and across her face, and he shifts forward across the table, pushes it back behind her ear. The warmth of his skin, the soft touch of his hand, leaves her listing into his fingers as he cups her cheek.

Oh, she's missed him.

"Yeah. I'm-"

"Richard."

Jerking apart, she turns toward the shrill voice - it's familiarity horrific in nature - and her stare lands on Paula… she's sure this one is Paula. Apparently not much has changed, even if she has since their first encounter; at least she's not on her knees this time.

Her hand lifts, and, waving slightly at the other woman, she straightens her spine, her body inching away from Rick's.

"I need a break, Paula." He doesn't wait for a response, moving around the table, but Paula steps up to his side, blocks his exit, her face pinched and Kate gnaws on the inside of her cheek. The last thing she wants is to cause him issues with his work.

"No, you have fans waiting for you, Rick, and I get you wanna break, but you can't. I'll get them to close the line off. It still leaves you with maybe an hour left."

His head angles, a flush flaring on his pale skin, his fingers balling into fists and Kate's gaze snaps back and forth, worry rearing its ugly head.

"Rick, I can wait. I mean, I'm sure there's a seat or something, and I'll just head over when the line is finished."

She's been waiting two months for this moment, to see his face again, she can handle another hour.

"No. Kate, I- you shouldn't have to hang around waiting for me to be finished. I'll make apologies-"

"Hey, it's not a big deal. I'll be okay." Her eyes narrow, her stare darting up and down his body. His hands are clenched, his shoulders drawn tight, a thin line of sweat beading on his forehead and her own stupidity astounds her. She could easily smack herself. "Rick. I promise. I'll be here when you've finished. I'm not going anywhere."

He inhales deeply, the noise reaching her from across the table, and as his body deflates, she forces her lips up into a smile. She's aiming for reassuring…

Uncurling his fingers, he maintains eye contact, a pause that speaks volumes of the past that they've been through, and with a sharp movement up and down, he nods. Turning to Paula, he repeats the action, appears to concede defeat, and, sliding himself into the chair, he picks up the pen again.

She watches the way it moves across the page of her book, and, shuffling closer, she tries to see the inscription. But it's to no avail - he's closing the front cover, pushing it toward her, and left with no other option than to pick it up, she cradles it against her chest, unread.

"Thank you, Rick, and I'll meet you back here, once you're finished."

Shifting his body sideways, he peers around her, seeming to study the long line of fans, and sitting up straight again, he winks, his lips tugging high into a wide smile.

"I'll sign my fingers to the bone."

With a hand against the table, she leans forward, her mouth against the stubble edge of his jaw. Of all the things she's missed their banter ranks within the top five, easily.

"Don't hurt those fingers too much, Rick. You might need them later."

* * *

Finding somewhere to sit in his line of sight - there were no free sofas in this part of the store - had held her attention, and now, with a box of books pushed against the wall, she finally rests. Leaning back, she glances at Rick, her copy of Storm Season still unopened on her lap, and, as his hand waves in her direction, she grins, her fingers flipping the front cover to reveal what he's written.

_Anything._

_Always, Rick_

A promise is a promise, and he's come through with his. He's more than done his fair share of helping - the bill for the rehab center certainly hasn't been coming to her - and sitting here for an hour or two is nothing. Another first step in the marathon that she's running.

"Ma'am."

Jerking her head up, her eyes widen. Standing in front of her a security guard strains under the weight of an arm chair and she jumps to her feet.

"If you could move the box please, I'll set this down for you."

Her jaw drops, her stare flickering to Rick - a smile spread across his features - and back to the large, padded chair. What in the world is he thinking?

"Ma'am?"

"Right. Sorry."

Shaking her head, she slides the box back to where it had originally been and turning back, the chair now sits in its place.

"Um. Thank you... For-" She waves her hand, indicating to the comfy seat, and the guard nods as he leaves.

Folding herself into the cushions, she rests her head on top of her knees, gazing at Rick. She'll never understand how she's been so fortunate. Of all the people in the world, that he was the one who had stumbled upon her all those months ago, and she'll forever be grateful, regardless of what happens next.

* * *

"Kate."

Her body contracts, her eyes snapping open, and, arching away from the voice, her head thumps the cushion behind her.

"Rick?" Angling her head, she peers around him, the book store coming in to view, and her body relaxes.

Right. The signing. Waiting for Rick.

"I must have dozed off. Sorry."

Chuckling, he shakes his head, a hand reaching for hers, and, tangling her fingers between his, she drags herself out of the chair.

"You must be tired?" It's not really a question but his tone curves up at the end and she nods.

"Sleeping is..." Swallowing, her gaze drops to where their fingers are joined, her therapist's voice echoing loud - a result from the daily sessions she attends. "_Honesty is the key to moving forward. Be truthful to the people in your life who will assist you in becoming and staying clean."_

"Sleeping is hard, sporadic at best."

His fingers cup her chin, encouraging her to look up and she moves with his hand, her gaze locking with his.

"How have you been, Kate?"

The intensity in his expression settles on her shoulders, would have been far too much not that long ago, and while it's still a heavy weight, it's one she's learned to stand strong under.

"I'm..." Damn. The _fine_ perches on the tip of her tongue, except she's not and he deserves the truth. "It's been a struggle and some days I'm angry and..."

Some days she hates him for wrecking the illusion she'd clung to.

The cravings that catch her unaware at the oddest of times leave her shaking, missing what she had, her mind glamorizing her past into something it never was. Group counseling has showed her that it's normal, that she's not alone. It's those times, when she _is_ grateful that she's at rehab, that far outweigh her struggles.

"And?" He squeezes her hand and her head shakes the thoughts clear.

"And it's hard. Harder than I could have imagined, but, Rick, every day is a day forward." Leaning into him, she places a brush of her lips against his cheek. "Thank you. It's not enough, nothing I say will ever be enough, but it's all I have so, thank you."

Nodding, he wraps both arms around her shoulders, draws her into his chest and she rests against the solid ground that he is.

"Thank you is more than enough. Seeing you healthy is more than enough."

Tears form in the corner of her eyes, and, rubbing the moisture onto his shirt, she pulls away with a huff, the back of her hand swiping to remove the last traces.

"Okay, enough of this. It's early, would you like to have lunch with me?"

His palms rest on each of her shoulders, his head angling, his stare seeming to study her carefully, and, breaking into a wide grin, he laughs.

"Did you just ask me on a date? A date that involves _food_?"

Poking him low in the ribs, her head thumps against his sternum, her eyes rolling at the astonished tone that she's sure he's putting on just for her.

"I'm required to eat five small, healthy meals a day."

It kills her, the act of eating so much, so often. Her appetite most days still verges on non-existent, but it's part of the program and she's following every step, every rule.

"Well in that case, I would love to have lunch with you, Kate."

* * *

"I don't think that salad can be classified as lunch." His skepticism coats his words, his eyebrows lifting high as he looks down into her bowl, and she waves a fork at his cheeseburger.

"Eat your lunch."

"Yes, Dear."

Her body stills, the term of endearment seeming to surprise him just as much as it did her and his head ducks. Inhaling, she wills herself to relax again. It didn't mean anything, he was just joking around…

"Kate?" He picks his lunch up, his gaze on his burger, and she drops her fork on the table, stretches across the gap between them, the back of her knuckles drifting along his forearm.

"Anything, Rick." Turning his words back onto him, she waits, and he lifts his head.

"Why are you here?" His mouth snaps shut as does his eyes and her heart stutters in her chest. She'd been waiting for this, the talk that they need to have, but it doesn't help the panic abate or the anxiety disappear.

But she can do this. She can do this for him.

"Today marks two months, and I'm now allowed to have a day release once a week. I…" Once she'd heard that she could leave for the day, he was the only thing that had consumed her thoughts.

_Tell the truth, Kate. _

"I miss you. And it's probably stupid, 'cause I don't even know what we had, and it's been two months, and you-"

"No, Kate. No. I- it's not stupid. I missed you too."

The breath she'd sucked down after her rambling, rushes past her lips, her body letting go of the worry that had churned in her stomach as she'd taken every step here - he misses her too.

"But you're only allowed out, once a week, until?"

Her head tilts, her fork poised in front of her mouth, the skin on her forehead pulling tight.

"Are they not… telling you? What's happening? You're paying the bill so don't you get like a progress report or something?"

She's assumed the whole time that he was being updated on her progress, where his money was going and shit... He's known nothing?

"No. It's all confidential. I mean I knew you arrived. I went to your place and there were new people and I-" His hands scrub across his face. "I called, made up an excuse about wanting to ensure that I'd given them the correct bank account details. I even asked how you were doing, but all they said was that your treatment was private."

"But they confirmed that I was there, without confirming."

He nods, the corner of his mouth hitching higher before it drops, and she reaches back for his hand.

"I'm sorry. For a lot of things." At some stage she'll have to go through each of them, but baby steps for now. "I'm sorry that I pushed you away, that I didn't come to see you before I went in."

It had been a rapid crash, searching for the last of her cocaine, ending up at her parents' graves, the stark realization that she had nothing left, that the only way to go was forward not back.

"No. No. I'm just glad you went, Kate."

Letting him go with a squeeze, she finishes off her salad, steals glances at him as he does the same with his hamburger.

The end of their time draws near. She has a train that she has to be on soon, but the idea of leaving is unwelcome, and it slows down her movements.

She's not ready to say goodbye.

"How long do you stay an inpatient for?"

Her head snaps up, her fork hitting the bowl, his question breaking the silence.

"Uh. Three months. Not three months left, I have one month left, if I can handle the days out without any-" It's louder outside, the bustle of people a shock to the calm her system has become accustomed to. "If I can handle the outside and put forth a plan about what's next. Then I can leave in a month."

Her eyes close. The plan her therapist requires is going to be the hardest hurtle to jump, but one step at a time.

"Can I see you? Next week?" His fingers blanch white, the way he's joined his hands together has to hurt, and she covers the knot, her thumb drifting across the skin over his knuckles.

"I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

* * *

Not saying goodbye outside the café had been a bad idea, because standing on the platform waiting for her train leaves her heart pounding, her palms sweating.

It's the scene from a thousand movies, the good bye that rips souls out, coating the concrete floor in shattered pieces.

"It's just a week, Kate."

Smiling up at him, she nods. Hell, they handled two months fine, a week is nothing.

"And I'll be right here. I'll meet your train next time."

The air rushes past them, her ride arriving, and, turning into his body, she throws her arms around him, her face buried into his chest.

"Thank you, Rick."

"Always, Kate."

* * *

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Thank you for all the support xoxo and I hope you enjoy then journey to the end xoxo

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Thank you so much to Jo and Jamie, for the beta and pompoms and inspiring me to continue (The story originally was meant to finish there) xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	19. Not that easy

**.**

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Nineteen – Not that easy

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Kate's feet rest on the train's platform for a whole three seconds before Rick lifts her up and into his arms, and gripping the lapels of his jacket, she holds on, God forbid she lose her balance.

"Hey." Her greeting is met with one of his own, his arms slowly releasing her back onto the concrete and she looks up into his face, the excitement rolling off him in waves.

Apparently she's been missed over the last week.

Hooking an arm around her shoulders, he steers them away from those coming and going, and she snuggles into his side, happy to enjoy the warmth of his body as they make their way out of the station.

"How's your week been?"

It's small talk and she's well aware of it, but for the last six days her therapy sessions have been less about her cravings and the demons of her past, and more about how to be in a relationship - a healthy relationship.

Their motto; communication is key.

"Uh. Um." His feet come to a stop and she turns, placing herself in front of him, her gaze locking with his. "I wrote. And I… had some meetings, and…"

His eyebrows draw together, a shoulder lifting, and, stretching onto her toes, she dots a kiss on the rippled skin.

"How was yours, Kate?"

"Good. I wrote- in my journal." It won't be read by millions, but it's another requirement, a part of the healing process. "And I went to meetings. Group and individual sessions. I met with my sponsor, so if I get out..."

Her arms lift, her hands tangling with his, and, tugging them forward, she moves them onto the sidewalk.

They don't make it more than three steps though.

"What do you mean, _if_?" His body freezes next to her, their progress coming to a halt, and she sighs.

"Can we get a coffee first? I'm allowed one a day and I purposely skipped this morning's so I could have a decent latte."

She's delaying this conversation - she's been avoiding it with her therapist too - but coffee will help, coffee always helps.

"One a day seems less like help and more like torture." He wiggles his eyebrows but the shadow over his expression doesn't change, his anxiety seeping out, and she walks faster.

It's better to get this over with than have him worrying all morning.

* * *

"I'll have a cappuccino and a vanilla latte, two pumps, please."

"It's skim and sugar free." The fact that he almost had it right sets the butterflies loose in her stomach - they've never gone out for coffee before.

"I know, but you could do with the calories."

Her jaw drops open, a hand shoving his shoulder, and really, Rick?!

"I'm not supposed to have much sugar, it's..." It's one of the many things that's strictly controlled.

"Okay, we'll take the sugar free syrup, but the full cream milk."

Rolling her eyes, she gives him another shove, not that he reacts, his hands landing on her waist as he steers her toward a table.

"I've put on weight, thanks!"

"Yes, now instead of model skinny, you're just skinny."

Her mouth opens, but any reply dies on her lips.

The doctor says she's nearly at healthy skinny, and that has to mean something…

"Kate." Raising his hand, his thumb drifts across her cheekbone, no longer a jutted bone over hollow skin. "You look beautiful and you're amazing."

Drawing her lip between her teeth, she replies with a sharp nod, her body turning away so she can sit on the stool. It was something she'd never considered when she first went to rehab, that she would have to confront and deal with the changes in her body and her issues with it.

Modeling has left her internally scarred - gaining weight is an uncomfortable process.

"My therapist suggested I go shopping today, for clothes, if you-"

Asking her... boyfriend to go clothes shopping with her feels ridiculous, but she was encouraged to take support. Her therapist told her that it would be hard to try on a new size of clothing - it's been agony wearing borrowed clothes because her old ones are too tight - and it's not like there's anyone else she would want there.

"I'd loved to, I know some great places on Fifth Avenue."

"Rick, I can't afford designer clothes. I can barely afford Target."

A hand darts between them, places their coffees on the table, and, smiling at the departing waitress, she curls her fingers around the porcelain.

"We'll talk about it later." He takes a mouthful of his drink, the mug hovering in front of his lips as he shuts down the subject, for now, and her eyes roll. "Which reminds me."

Humming, she breathes in the caffeine, understanding why its intake is measured. She could easily spend all day drinking this stuff if she didn't know better.

"We're having coffee. So what did you mean when you said _if _you get out in three weeks?"

Shit.

"I meant that it's not as simple as just walking out the front door. I need a plan in place, one that they approve, and then I can become an outpatient."

He shrugs, clearly not seeing the problem, and she brings the cup to her mouth, buying herself another minute.

"Kate?"

Apparently that minute is up.

"A part of the program is, at least for a while. A long while..." There's one patient in group therapy who relapsed after five years of being clean all because, in his words, he became complacent. "...is to avoid all places and activities were you did cocai- _it_."

Throwing a glance around the coffee shop, she drops her volume down another level.

"For me... that means no modeling, no parties. And I have to limit my time by myself, while also avoiding people that use. Which is basically everyone I know. In other words, finding a nunnery."

She lifts an eyebrow, her shoulders shrugging.

"Okay." His head nods, although she has no idea why. "And what else? You said a part of the program. What else do you need to do to become an outpatient?"

"I need to have a safe, secure apartment to live in and steps put in place to get a job or go back to school."

Squeezing her eyelids closed, she swallows the tears that line her throat. Without modeling she has no job. With no job she has no money. With no money she has no apartment.

"That's it?" His head tilts and the urge to smack him races through her system again. "That's easily sorted."

Her elbows hit the table, her head falling into her palms. How many nights has she lain awake running through a hundred different scenarios without success and apparently it's "easily sorted."

Seriously?

"You can come live with me, and you can go back to college or I can find you a job."

Damn him.

"Rick. It's not a problem for you to solve by swooping down, adjusting your red cape, and snapping your fingers. I can't just move into the loft with you and pick up where we left off."

Her fingers rip through her hair, her head listing back. She'd been looking forward to this day all week and now it's going to end in an argument.

"Okay, for starters I was talking about you having the guest room upstairs. I'd never presume that we would-"

"I'm sorry. I know. I do, Rick. And it's moot anyway, I can't-" She waves a hand between them.

"You can't?!"

"No. Not for a while. I'm supposed to be avoiding activities that I did while... There's apparently a whole process of handling the cravings that come with - doing _it _- and that sure as hell hasn't been an issue so I haven't gone into it with my therapist."

Yet.

"Oh, right. That makes sense." His eyebrows furrow, and, lifting a hand, she ghosts her fingers across his forehead. "But you can still move in, upstairs. There's a double bed, and linen, and even your own bathroom."

How does she break his heart?

Truth, Kate. He has to hear the truth.

"Rick, I can't move in because I can't be around you that much. The apartment and money issue aside, I can't be around any substances, or people that use them. No drugs. No alcohol."

Bringing her hands together, she stares at her thumbnail, avoids the desolate expression that's no doubt sliding onto his face.

She should have told him last week. Should have explained that his drinking was going to be an issue.

The sound of him moving on his stool causes flares of panic to ignite, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. They'd only just started clawing their way back...

His hand slides over hers though, leaves a coin behind and for a second the idea that he is paying her for something takes ahold.

What?

She picks it up, her eyes closing.

Two months.

It's a sobriety chip. She has her own in her room at the rehab center and gripping the gold coin, she brings it to her chest.

"You were right, in a roundabout way, Kate. I had something taken from me, and I was letting it take even more. I was letting it rob me of a future. Of maybe one day having that chance again."

Opening her eyes, she watches him; his fingers trail through the coffee that had overflowed from his cup, his eyes tracking his movements, and, while her heart pleads with her to say yes, she's learned that stopping and taking a moment before making a decision is important too.

"Can I think about it? Talk it over with my therapist. I just-" How does she explain that she doesn't want to take a step back.

"You don't want to rush. I get that, Kate. I do. But I have the room there, and it fits the criteria that they want and... it would be nice to have someone around." He glances in her direction, a small smile tugging his lips up. "See what your therapist says and if you want, it's there."

Nodding in reply, she lifts her mug, swallows the last of the coffee, and, standing, her hand tugs on his bicep.

"A worry for another day. Come on, I need to get some clothes before I have to head back on the train."

* * *

Standing in front of the mirror, the urge to weep clogs her throat, her eyes closing as she wishes for the image before her to be something different.

"Kate. You've been in there for ten minutes now. Come on out."

She can't. She can't exit the dressing room. She can't let him see her like this.

This whole shopping trip was a bad idea. The way he'd convinced her to come to Burberry, insisted that he wanted to buy her a very early, or very late Christmas present, and she'd swallowed her pride, followed him here. Designer clothes were meant to be flattering and maybe it would be enough for her to hold it together, not worry about the fact that she's not a size zero anymore.

But it's not.

The curtain behind her rustles as it moves, and she opens her eyes, stares at the mirror. Rick's head pokes around the corner, into the large area she'd been given to try on the outfits, and, at any moment the very helpful, perky red head is going to appear, gushing over the clothes and the commission she's probably already worked out.

"Wow, Kate, you look stunning."

She raises an eyebrow at his reflection, pausing to make her skepticism clear; the dress she's wearing is really not that flattering.

Drawing the curtain closed completely behind him, he steps into the room, the front of his body pressing against her back as he returns her stare in the mirror.

His hands rest against her shoulders, his thumb sliding along the chain she wears around her neck until he can slip the two rings onto his smallest finger and her eyes close.

"They were my parents'. I-" She breathes in the courage she needs to continue. "I put the necklace on before I went in."

His lips brush the curve of her shoulder, traveling to a patch under her jaw, and she cants into his touch.

"They'd be so proud of you, Kate. I'm so proud of you."

"I-" What does she say to that? Standing here hating herself for having become clean, for what it's done to her body. Hating in equal portions that her appearance was her currency for far too long. That being thin meant being employed.

"Do you know what I see, looking at you right now?"

She keeps her eyes closed; his breath ghosting across her cheek, his nose nuzzling against her skin, is all she needs.

"I see a beautiful soul that was ripped to pieces from loss and sorrow, reforming itself. I see a heart that was abandoned and desolate, choosing to seek out hope. I see a body that's been abused and walked over, healing itself."

Both of his palms slide along her ribs, down and around her stomach until he holds her tight.

"I see someone who has strength and tenacity, who stands up for the things she believes in. I see someone who is brave and loyal, who risked it all to help a friend. I see someone who is intelligent and thoughtful, who was accepted and went to Stanford. I see someone who is funny and witty, whose banter leaves me laughing long after the fact. Most of all I see someone who is loving, who loves with everything she has, even when it comes close to destroying her. I see someone who is willing to give love another chance, who survived that destruction."

Tears slip from between her closed eyelids, and, pivoting, she buries her head into his chest, fingers gripping the material of his shirt.

She has to hold onto the hope that one day, somehow, she has all those traits. That she'll be someone to be proud of.

That she'll see what he does.

* * *

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Thank you to all for their help on twitter, and, a massive thank you for all your wonderful words, they made my heart burst! Xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their beta magic and pompoms xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	20. Steps forward

**.**

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Twenty – Steps forward

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* * *

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With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

Lifting a hand to the wooden surface, Kate breathes slowly through her nose, attempts to calm the butterflies that have sprung forth out of nowhere. It's not her first time at Rick's front door, not even close, and her nervousness is for nothing...

But it's the first time she's visited since she went to rehab, first time here clean, and she had spent countless of hours at his loft, flying very high. From cocaine. From his touch.

First steps are always the hardest.

Rapping her knuckles against the wood, she exhales, and, after forty seconds - not that she'd counted - his door flies open.

"Kate?"

"Hi."

With a dishcloth over one shoulder and his shirt sleeves rolled all the way to his elbows, he's the perfect mixture of casual and hot, and her tongue darts between her teeth.

Oh, this was a bad idea.

"What are you doing here? Damn, was I supposed to be at the station?" Panic flushes his cheeks, his head spinning left, then right, and she reaches for his hand.

"No. That was supposed to be tomorrow. I'm-"

"You're out a day early! This is great! Hold that thought. You're here, come, look."

Tugging her by the arm, he shifts them forward, closing the door. His fingers slip between each of hers, and, bounding over to the staircase, he drags them both up to the second floor.

"Rick?"

"Wait. Close your eyes. Actually, no, wait until we're further down the hallway."

The urgency in his step leaves her holding her breath, and as he moves past the door he'd shown her at the start of their… _relationship_, her head can't help but turn, her stare lingering longer than appropriate. Does it still hold the baby furniture that was never used?

"Okay. Now close your eyes."

"Rick."

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

His mouth opens, tongue darting out to run across his bottom lip, and leaning against the door, his shoulder lifts.

"I just wanted- I was going to show you tomorrow, after I picked you up from the station. I'd hoped-"

"Okay, how about you show me now." She has a hundred questions bubbling inside of her, but she clamps down on them all, allows him to have this moment. Whatever he's done, he's clearly excited about it.

"Will you close your eyes?"

Glaring, she folds her arms over her chest, and as his face falls, she does what he asks, ignoring the urge to open them so he can see the eye rolling that's occurring behind her eyelids.

She's always been a sucker for his puppy dog look, though.

The door creaks a fraction and she imagines him opening it, stepping into the room, inspecting the surprise, his fingers fixing his hair as he prepares for the big reveal.

Her hands lift to cover her closed eyes, lest she peek at him as the unknown wiggles its way across her skin, and she releases a sigh, one that's loud.

And it seems to get his attention.

His hands rest against her shoulders, his body shifting behind hers, and, encouraging her forward, he moves them into the room.

Four steps in and he comes to a stop, halting her movement with a tightening of his grip on her shoulders.

"Okay, open your eyes."

She follows his instructions, looks around the decent sized room, and her heart swells, overwhelmed with the sight before her.

The bed is covered with a deep purple comforter - her favorite color - and piled with the perfect amount of pillows; something she's missed while staying at the rehab center. A clear vase cradles a handful of yellow tulips on the bedside table, three books stacked neatly next to the display - all of them his according to their spines - and a lamp in the back corner. On the wall rests a canvas of an elephant, its eyes looking directly into hers, and a surge of strength flashes through her veins. It's almost as if it's imparting its knowledge and wisdom onto her - not that she believes in that kind of thing, of course.

"It's beautiful, Rick."

It really is. What's more breathtaking is the idea that he'd prepared this room for her, gathered bits and pieces of information, somehow listened and noted every time she let slip a piece of herself, and he's done it all without even knowing if she would accept the room, whether her discussion with her therapist would come out in his favor.

"I chose the flowers especially for you."

Turning, she tangles their fingers together. "Why?"

"All flowers have a meaning, and yellow tulips mean, there's sunshine in your smile. It made me think of how nice it is to see you smiling recently."

His shoulders lift, and, stretching onto her toes, she darts a quick kiss against his cheek, pulls back to smile up at him, expressing every ounce of the happiness that's racing through her system.

"They're amazing. The room is amazing. I-"

"I don't want to pressure you. I'm not. I just want you to know that it's here."

Nodding, she tugs on his hand, her fingers still entwined with his, and, walking over to the bed, she sits on the edge, pulling him down beside her.

"I'm having my visit day a day early, because my sponsor was a part of a meeting here in the city, a CA meeting, and she wanted to show me around, get to know some of the other regulars."

His fingers squeeze hers, his body almost buzzing, and tilting her head, she glances at his face; with eyes closed, he nods slightly.

"And I talked with my therapist about staying here, and he said that there are some downsides to the situation." Rick's shoulders slump, his body curling into itself and it's her turn to squeeze his hand. "Our past, the memories that come with what I did while we were together, you going through your own battle. But, there are lots of positives too."

The sound of him inhaling fills the room, and she mimics his actions. She needs to get this all out, for him, for her, so they can begin moving forward.

"We'll have to be honest with each other. About what this means to each of us, about what our expectations are." She searches for the list of topics that she'd discussed during yesterday's session. "We have to lean on each other, when the bad days hit, the cravings rear their ugly head and we want to slip back into old habits. We need to hold each other accountable. Make sure we're going to meetings, that we're staying away from temptation."

It sounds so easy, yet this could be their undoing.

"Kate. I'm not expecting this to be easy. And there are going to be days when we avoid each other, or everything gets on our nerves, or days when this feels like it's all too much, but I promised anything. I promised that because I-"

Twisting on the bed, he leans forward, cups her face between his palms, and she traps her bottom lip, her stomach churning. She doesn't know if she's ready to hear the rest of his sentence, if it's skipping past her 'one foot in front of the other' motto.

"Kate, if you can stand here, by my side, then I can be right here, by yours."

Her forehead ghosts across his, and nodding, she swallows the tears that spring forth unexpectedly.

"I still have to work out what I am going to do with school this week. I've been thinking it over and while I can't go back down the path that I was on, I can't be a lawyer, I think that finishing off a degree… in something... is what my next step should be."

Brushing his lips on the skin between her eyebrows, he grins, his arm encircling her shoulders, and she wiggles closer into his side.

"So we could tour some colleges in the area, see what's available for a January start, and go from there."

"Next week, maybe? Today I kind of just want to sit here and get used to the idea of living with you."

Living together, under one roof, sorting themselves out, working through what they are to each other - her lips stretch into a grin - she's getting pretty damn good at taking steps forward these days.

* * *

"So do you like Columbia better or are you leaning more toward NYU? Although if you get desperate there's always CUNY."

Leaning toward him on the park bench, Kate knocks her shoulder in to his, her hands pushing down on the papers that cover her lap. There are so many choices, so many things to consider and it's all been one hell of a day out.

Her last one before she's released next week.

An official outpatient.

"Don't be an elitist, and I'm going to put in applications to as many as I can, I guess. It'll be less about which one I want and more about which one, hopefully, chooses me."

Rick lifts an arm, sliding it behind her back, his thumb hooking under the sleeve of her tee, and rubbing circles across her skin, he chuckles.

"How could they not want you?"

Her eyes roll, his question laughable, and peering down at the course information, she attempts to put some of it in order.

"Well it's the last week of May and starting is so far off that I really don't want to begin worrying this early." There's so much to do before then, essays to write, courses to think about, and, first of all, she has to approach Stanford, see what their policy is on transferring her credits. Just not going back - now a year and a half later - doesn't seem like the good idea that it had been at the time.

Granted at the time, she hadn't been thinking at all, let alone straight.

"Hey, Kate, there's nothing to worry about."

Tilting her head in his direction, she reaches for the pile of papers that rests on his knees, and, dragging them onto hers, she throws him a grin.

"I'm not. And are you having fun reading through all of the courses available? Going for another degree? Isn't thirty too young to be having a mid-life crisis?"

"I'm thirty-one now, thank you very much." Her head ducks - she'd missed his birthday - a curtain of hair falling to hide her face. It doesn't conceal much though; his fingers hook the strands back in place behind her ear, his lips brushing across her cheek. "It was just a birthday, Kate. And I think thirty-one is the perfect time for a mid-life crisis, fifty seems so long to wait."

Shaking her head, she lifts a glossy page, and waves it in his direction. "You could study poetry, expand Derek Storm's vocab a little."

"There is nothing wrong with his vocab, and we're supposed to be working out what you're going to be. You could go back to…"

He doesn't finish the sentence, her head already thrashing from side to side. She loved her parents and while growing up that's all she could see herself doing, following in their footsteps, but now, it's all far too close to home.

"I could go completely different. I love languages; I could do something in that area."

"Oh, you could learn French fluently? That's sexy. Or what about Russian? That's just damn hot."

Pushing her lips together to hold onto the laughter threatening to burst free, her smile no doubt contradicts the stern look in her eyes as she glares at him; although, she's always wanted to travel, and places like Odessa, Minsk, and Kiev have held much more appeal for her than places like Paris and Rome.

"Do you like numbers? There's a whole area of math that could be exciting… to some people. Don't know if I've met any personally, but I'm sure someone must like it…_?"_

"I enjoyed economics, just like lots of people do, but I don't know if I could do it as a career."

A humming noise escapes his lips, his eyes looking around, and she follows his gaze, takes in the people around them enjoying the beautiful spring weather before she shifts the papers to the wooden slats beside her.

Drawing her knees up, she inches a little closer to his side, her chin resting in the v she's created.

"What about something in the area of justice, not a lawyer, but something that helps others. You have that passionate, protective streak in you, Kate. I've seen it."

Her heart stutters for a moment, his words racing through her like lightning, and while she can't be a lawyer, maybe he's onto something. She's been fortunate that her choices haven't received the consequences that they could have, that thanks - in part to Rick - her record is still clean, and maybe, just maybe…

"What about the circus? I really want to learn how to juggle those fire sticks. If college doesn't work out, we should have some plan Bs ready."

Her laughter escapes this time, her fingers wriggling under the hem of his shirt to attack the tender skin below his ribs and as he joins her, his giggle _most_ manly, she breathes a happy sigh.

Tomorrow she can work out what she wants to be when she grows up.

Today she's going to enjoy the opportunity and the fact that she _is _growing up.

* * *

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I passed 50,000 words last chapter (which I didn't realise, lol) and I guess I officially completed my ficathon goal (although there are still three more chapters to post), and I also passed a huge milestone of 1k, which would never have happened if it wasn't for all your incredible support. To say that I appreciate your phenomenal acts of kindness is truly the biggest understatement.

Thank you xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie, who have had to beta all the words and have done so with the loudest and most colorful pompoms imaginable xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	21. Toeing the line

**.**

**Lost in bright city lights**

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Chapter Twenty One – Toeing the line

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* * *

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

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* * *

"I brought the town car to the station today, so we can get your stuff to the loft. Thought it would be easier than lugging it onto the subway." Drawing back from his arms - he'd engulfed her as soon as she'd stepped off the train - Kate lets out a low chuckle, her mouth curling up into a smile.

"That's probably unnecessary." She reaches for the rucksack at her feet, swings it onto her shoulder, and, lifting an eyebrow, she waits.

"Where are the rest of your bags?"

"This is it."

His mouth opens, before shutting it with a snap, clearly rethinking what's about to exit. And yes, she agrees, it's more than a little depressing to have your life's worth of belongings fit into one bag, but all of her clothes consist of the ones he'd bought her on their shopping trip, and, aside from some sentimental items from her parents, she'd walked away from everything else.

Not that she had much to start with.

"Well, you're here and that's the most important thing." He holds out an elbow, appears to ignore the crowd bustling past them on the platform as he stands strong against the tide of people, and she curls her fingers into the angle he's created, her eyes rolling at his gesture. Anyone would think they were off to the theater. "Ready to head home, Kate?"

Home.

Fuck.

Her stare crashes into his, a flash of panic slicing through her at the thought, but the soft expression lighting his features, the clear blue of his eyes, smothers it just as quickly.

She has a home, a wonderful home with the most amazing man, and, sure they have more than one hurdle in front of them, but, as they walk toward the exit, she's hit with the realization - she has a _home_.

For the first time since it was all ripped from her, she's going _home_.

* * *

"Are you supposed to be writing? 'Cause I can do this paperwork in my room if I'm too much of a distraction. In the _kitchen_."

He has a perfectly good study across the room; she's been inside it. Hell in the past she'd enjoyed him on numerous surfaces in it, but week one of living in the loft has brought about a surprise.

He likes to watch.

"I'm just getting a glass of water."

His arms cross - the glass in question was emptied and in the sink almost five minutes ago - and she points at him as he continues to lean against the fridge.

"The water was consumed and yet..." Yet, he's still standing there, watching her.

"I'm going back to it. Just admiring the view."

He winks, eyes traveling across the top half of her body; her elbows rest on the counter, her palms cupping her chin, and she stares at him in return. They've been standing very carefully on their own sides of the line, the one that exists between them, the one that keeps them separated - and she's not ready to cross it.

Although this hasn't stopped him from watching.

This isn't the surprise, though. He's always watched, always seen more than he should.

But their contact was at parties, or hook ups, and the watching made sense, to a degree. After all she'd been naked, or close to it at the time.

Now?

Whether she's making breakfast, reading on the couch, writing at the counter, _he __watches_.

"How's your latest book coming along?"

He shrugs a shoulder, closing the space between them until he mimics her position. His gaze stays on hers the entire time, and she straightens her spine, even with her heartbeat picking up its tempo, becoming a herd of elephants in her chest.

"Are you doing okay here, Kate?"

Nodding her head, she relaxes, everything falling into place; he's nervous, maybe even a little worried, and she reaches for his hand, slips her fingers through his. She's proud of how far she's come, how far they've both come, that they're facing these moments head on instead of avoiding them, that they're talking it through.

She has no idea how many hours of therapy - individual and group - she's attended, but they're worth every second if this is the result.

Some days though, she can't help but think it's been too easy. That it can't stay this smooth.

"I'm doing great, Rick. We're doing great, right?"

His lips ghost across her forehead, and her eyes close because this is the line, this is where they toe it. Chaste brushes. Barely there touches.

"We are. Like Chuck Norris, kicking ass and taking names."

A low laugh rumbles through her chest, her eyes opening, and, grinning at him, she pokes his shoulder.

"Could kick your ass."

* * *

His fingers glide through the sweat beading on her skin, along her outer thighs, and, reaching the curve of her ass, he kneads her flesh as her hips buck.

The desire to have him closer tears through her, every inch, every cell screaming for him, and she inhales deeply through her nose, attempts to breathe him in.

It has a very different result.

Her cough shakes the top half of her body, the loose granules in her nose hitting the back of her throat, and, damn it, that was a mistake. She knows better than to do that after a hit and her head thrashes from side to side, but the confusion lingers.

_Why did she do that?_

He doesn't appear to react to her coughing fit, his hands drifting higher, across her ribs, his nails raking hard under each of her breasts. The pain, oh so perfect, joins the agony that's swallowing her whole, and her hands claw above her head, seeking out something to grab ahold of, anything to anchor her to the bed because at any moment - between him and the cocaine dancing in her system - she's going to hit the ceiling, smash into little pieces of glitter that will rain down on him.

"Fuck, Rick."

He keeps going, traps both of her nipples between a thumb and a finger, pinching and pulling, until she swears she could come from this torture alone, this never ending pleasure.

But she wants more. Needs more. Wants him. Inside.

She should wrap her legs around him, slide her foot down to his rear, entice him forward, but it's black and her body is nothing but broken pieces.

_Where are her legs?_

His mouth latches to the angle of her neck - her mind losing its ability to care about anything that isn't him - and, applying both teeth and tongue to her skin, he sucks and gnaws, the pressure solid and heavy as her pulse flutters underneath his glorious attack.

Her head falls further to the side, grants him better access, and her eyes open, the table by her bed coming into focus.

There are two more rows of cocaine awaiting her, calling out for her, and the fire that he'd stoked, with his fingers, with his mouth, becomes an inferno.

It sets her alight, the flames charring her skin until there's nothing left except black.

_Hopefully the fire doesn't burn the flower in the vase._

It's a single sunflower, standing tall, and her arm stretches across the bed, but her fingers can't get close enough. He'd presented it over breakfast, explained that it meant sunshine and pride, that he was proud of her, of them.

_Is he proud of this?_

The question dissolves into the darkness, his fingers ghosting down her abdomen, finding the ache between her thighs, the one that's been building for days, weeks, months.

Forever.

Always.

Rick.

Her head shakes again, something's wrong, _off_, but his fingers thrust sharply into her and her hips jerk, her thighs pulling taunt as she opens herself wider for him, anything for him, for this.

"Please, Rick."

It's his undoing, from the very first time he'd placed his hands on her, she'd worked out that these two words leave him powerless against her, and she's used it more than once. She'd whispered, yelled, begged. Until he'd given into her, given her what she wanted.

Shit, she wants him, wants the lines on the table, and she opens her eyes again - maybe this time she can reach them.

But there's nothing there.

Just her flower standing proud.

_Fuck._

* * *

Throwing herself forward on the mattress, her breath leaves her body in short rasps that echo around her empty bedroom, and lifting her hands, she pushes the long sticky strands of hair off her face.

Ugh.

Sweat clings to every inch of her skin, pooling disgustingly between her breasts, in the angles of her elbows and knees, and grabbing the sheet, she swipes at the moisture. The contact on her body is sheer, _fucking_, agony though.

Every nerve ending shrieks, the material - despite its amazingly high thread count - is sandpaper against her, and a sob breaks from her chest.

It's not what she wants, what her body needs, and, falling back, her stare lingers on the vacant table beside her bed, vacant except for her sunflower.

She needs a hit.

Tugging up the over-sized shirt she'd worn to sleep, she pushes the thought away; her hand travels over the slick skin of her abdomen, down and under her panties, into the heat that's throbbing.

For him.

If she can just focus on something else, something other than the roar in her mind, the ache cracking her veins and arteries open, then she'll be fine.

She'll be fine.

The first time she'd heard a patient talk about the dreams during group therapy, she'd raised an eyebrow and gone back to studying her nails.

The first time she'd had one, she'd spent three hours in her therapist's office sobbing.

They're not dreams. Not even nightmares.

This is hell.

Her fingers rub frantically around her clit, her muscles squeezing, contracting, but it's not enough, the cry inside so far past something she can control, and, withdrawing her hand, she wipes herself on the sheets.

Fuck this.

Pushing herself off the bed, she stalks across her room, the thump of her heart in time with each footstep as she runs down the hall, down the stairs, her hand only just catching the railing as she flings herself around the bottom corner.

Rick.

It's either him or out the door to find the nearest drug infested alleyway.

She knows where to look, after all.

Her feet come to a halt between his room and the staircase, the exit illuminated by the light he leaves on, and her chest heaves with the effort to breathe.

It would be so easy to slip away.

No.

Find him, find him and ease the ache that's ripping her in half. It's not all that she needs, but it's better, better than nothing.

Better than purchasing a bag.

Sliding through the gap he's left open - left open for her? - she enters his bedroom, her body rising onto her toes as she inches closer to him.

Her fingers curl around the thin sheet that conceals him, and, pulling it down, oh so slowly, she reveals his sleeping form.

The hands that had raked their way across her skin. His fingers - thick and broad - that had brought about the high that is currently shouting for release. His body that had thrust into hers until he'd silenced her demons, stopped the claws that shredded her soul.

Letting go of the sheet, she kicks off her panties, climbs into his bed, and, lifting a knee over his thighs, she hovers above him.

He shifts, his head turning to face the other way, his legs stretching as he lies flat on his back, and fitting her fingers between his skin and the band of his boxers, she tugs them down.

She shouldn't be here, she shouldn't be doing this, she knows better, knows that this could destroy them, all the wonderful moments of the last week, of living together happily.

But it's _this_. Or it's _that_.

After three months, shit, she wants it all so much.

"Kate?"

He whispers her name, eyes closed, and with the back of her nail, she slides along his length, stirring him awake.

See. He wants her too. It's too easy.

"Kate? Kate, what's happening?"

Confusion and sleep coat his tone, his head thrashing from side to side as he glances around his room, and she rubs her thumb over his tip, her body moving high, her lips crashing into his.

Fuck, she's missed this.

* * *

.

Thank you. Your joy over their happiness created such bursts of sunshine in mine xoxo

.

Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their amazing work xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


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